


Always, We Begin Again

by fancyh



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Awesome Gwen (Merlin), BAMF Merlin, Dark Merlin, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Season/Series 04, Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-06-19 15:23:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15512772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fancyh/pseuds/fancyh
Summary: "What happened to you, Merlin?" Arthur questions softly. "I thought we were friends."Something flashes in those blue eyes, there and gone again. "As did I," Merlin replies, and his voice is laced with equal sadness. "But I guess we were both wrong."





	1. Prologue

Arthur stares out the window, watching as the rain batters the panes and slides in quavering drops to the windowsill, a rumble of thunder echoing in the distance. Lightning cracks against the sky, illuminating the courtyard; in a flash Arthur sees the outline of a figure, its form unerringly familiar. He leans forwards, heart thumping under his breastbone, but in the next instant there is nothing, the courtyard dark and still. A trick of the light. Something squeezes painfully in Arthur's chest, a grief he thought he'd buried years ago.

Footsteps sound but Arthur doesn't turn, recognizing their cadence. A gentle hand lands on his arm.

"You're thinking about him, aren't you?" Gwen's voice is soft, but it hurts all the same. Arthur refuses to look at her, continuing to stare out the window and feigning indifference.

"Who?" 

"Arthur." Gwen's voice is firm.

Arthur swallows down the familiar bitterness, knuckles white as he grips the windowsill. "I told you not to speak of him again."

"It's been over two years, Arthur, surely-"

"-No." Arthur turns to face Gwen, shrugging off her hand. "You know what he did."

Something sparks in Gwen's eyes, an anger and a grief to match Arthur's. "He was my friend too, Arthur." Her voice wavers but her eyes bore into Arthur's evenly, dark and full of anger. "I loved him too." She draws herself up, jabbing a shaking finger into Arthur's chest. "You know, you were a better man with him here. A man I thought I could be proud to call King. Lately, I'm not so sure."

She leaves without another word, footsteps echoing across the stone floor until naught remains but the patter of rain and the crack and hiss of lightning as it flashes outside, thunder growling softly as if it, too, is displeased with Arthur. There is something hollow in his chest, words on his lips that die before they can be brought to life, his outstretched hand dropping as he turns back to the window.

He watches the rain for some time, nursing the emptiness in his heart, before he turns and begins dressing for bed. He shivers as the air hits his skin, the fireplace filled with nothing but ash and only a few candles scattered around the room, casting a feeble light that softens the edges of everything and creates forms out of shadows, writhing and twisting in a strange dance unbeknownst to any but them. 

Arthur puts out the candles one by one, plunging the room into darkness. His footsteps are quiet against the floor, limbs moving without thought as his feet lead him to his bed. The sheets feel scratchy and rumpled, the pillows flat and un-fluffed. There is no one to draw the covers over him, no one to snuff out the last candle with a whispered  _good night, Arthur_ and slip away as Arthur falls into sleep, the room warm and full of life.

Arthur lies in bed alone, staring up at the canopy as flashes of lightning periodically illuminate the barren room, the coldness creeping up and smothering him with its disdain. He falls asleep, eventually, but his dreams are full of blue-gold eyes and pale skin, of fire and swords and a voice, calling out his name. 

_Arthur,_ it cries.  _Arthur._   


	2. Chapter 2

_He is running, stumbling through the woods as blood runs down his face, his breaths harsh and loud in the stillness. He trips and falls, going to one knee, and a sob rips from his chest. He presses his hand to the wound in his side, trying to stop the blood that soaks his tunic, the stain spreading further and further. The world goes fuzzy, black spots dancing in front of his eyes. He feels himself fall, toppling to the forest floor as he exhales a last ragged breath-_

Merlin wakes with a start, breathing heavily. There's a shuffle, the creaking of floorboards, and then hot breath washes over Merlin's side, a croaking chirp meeting his ears. He turns his head, seeing Aithusa looking up at him with mournful eyes. His hand finds her head, stroking the gnarled and twisted ridges along her neck as she purrs, limping closer to rest her head on his stomach.

"It's alright," he says softly. "Nothing can hurt us anymore." He sits up with difficulty, limbs trembling with the exertion and head spinning. He leans back heavily against the wall, moving Aithusa's head to his lap and continuing to run his hand soothingly over her scales. His eyes catch on the raw marks around his wrist, just now healing into scars, and he feels a surge of anger. His other hand fists on the lumpy bed, gold sparking in his eyes.

"They'll pay," he growls, hand stilling on Aithusa's head. "All of them. I'll make them pay."

Aithusa chirps worriedly and pushes her head into his chest. Merlin resumes his petting mindlessly, staring off into the distance as anger burns within him, consuming him.

* * *

He hobbles around the small hovel, adding things to the pot bubbling merrily above the fire as Aithusa watches from her spot in the corner, chewing on a rabbit. The muscles in his legs are still weak, atrophied from lack of use, but every day he grows a little stronger, as does Aithusa. She may never be right again, will always be crippled and twisted, but at least she is alive. At least they are out of that dark hole, where the only sounds were their own cries echoing back against the stones-

Merlin shakes his head, banishing the memory. They are both alive. That's all that matters. He focuses on stirring the pot of stew, the smell making his mouth water. For two years he had subsisted on stale bread and small amounts of water lowered down into the pit. Afterwards, food had been a source of much sickness and discomfort, but over the weeks he's worked up to eating regular meals again, something that he's infinitely glad for. He doesn't know how much more watery broth he can take. 

He spoons the stew into a bowl and takes a heaping bite, moaning slightly at the taste before dropping into a chair as he continues to eat. He manages to scrape the pot clean, using magic to clean and tidy up before going on his nightly walk. It helps to build up his muscles as well as let him check for any disruptions in his magical barriers that make his dwelling invisible to any passing through. Aithusa comes with him, limping slowly but seemingly reinvigorated by the fresh air and the sights and sounds of the forest. She's spent most of her life imprisoned, so it's no wonder everything is so new for her. 

Everything is quiet, and so after their rounds Merlin and Aithusa head back into the hovel, taking up their respective places on the small bed and the mound of pine needles on the floor. Merlin conjures a small light and spends his time poring over a map, plotting how best to bring his enemies to their knees. He traces a finger over Camelot, feeling a pang of grief that's quickly swept aside by anger. A scorch mark appears on the map and he has to take several deep breaths to rein in his magic again, throwing the map onto a nearby table. The map flutters down, the name  _Camelot_ reduced to a smudged outline.

* * *

 He slips into Camelot easily, evading the guards using magic and keeping his hood up to hide his face, the rain pouring down from the heavens making it easy to go unnoticed. It hurts, to walk down streets he knows so well, remembering happier days spent assisting Gaius or strolling through the market as the townspeople smiled and pressed extra sweetmeats into his hands. He pushes the pain aside, bitterly pressing on. Oh, how naive he'd been. 

He comes to the courtyard, glancing up to see a shadow in the window overlooking it as lightning flashes, thunder rumbling in the distance like a warning. He knows that room, knows exactly who stares out at him, and feels a surge of hatred mingled with longing as his fists clench under his cloak. He turns away, slipping into the shadows before the next crack of lightening illuminates the square.

He finds himself in the tavern, picking a spot in the corner and keeping his hood up as he nurses the ale the barkeeper had slid over to him with a grunt. With a flash of his eyes a nearby table's conversation becomes crystal clear in his ears, and he listens intently.

"-said she wouldn't want me 'ere I was the last man on earth," a man says glumly. "I really thought she was the one fer me, I did-"

He switches attention to another table, ducking his head to hide the glow of his eyes.

"-King Arthur-"

His breath stills in his chest, heart skipping a beat. He swallows, focusing on the conversation.

"-say he's no better than his father."

"I think he's a good sight better than Uther."

"In some ways, maybe." The man lowers his voice, forcing Merlin to strain to hear him. "But not where magic is concerned. They say it's all because of that servant who turned out to be a sorcerer, what's his name?"

"Oh, right. Wasn't he the one who-"

Merlin pushes the conversation away, the noise in the tavern returning to a low buzz in his ears. He's heard enough. He tosses a few coins onto the table and stands, edging his way out of the tavern just as a loud group of men enter, one knocking into Merlin.

"Apologies, mate."

Merlin nearly gasps at the familiar voice, ducking his head and slipping by at the last moment before Gwaine has a chance to scrutinize him. He hears Gwaine stop and turn; feels his eyes bore into his back curiously, but Merlin is already moving, walking as fast as he can through the rain and turning down a deserted sidestreet. He leans against the wall, pressing a hand to his face as he takes a sobbing breath. Something painful squeezes his heart, a grief he'd thought long shoved down rising up. He allows himself a moment of weakness and then composes himself, straightening his hood and setting off into the darkness.

* * *

He finds a nearby Druid encampment the next day, hidden in the dense woods and surrounded by a gentle wash of protective spells that Merlin brushes aside, striding into the camp with hood pulled low over his face. Druids look up as he passes, some giving him slight bows, a murmur of  _Emrys_ sweeping through the camp.

The Druid elder Iseldir emerges from his tent, beckoning Merlin inside. Inside a small fire crackles and hisses, a pot hanging over it and furs set up around it, various charms hanging from the poles. Iseldir gestures for Merlin to sit, pouring tea into two cups and passing one to Merlin before settling down across from him as Merlin finally lowers his hood, exposing his face. He studies Merlin for a moment before speaking, voice hushed and yet clear as a summer stream.

"Your soul is troubled, Emrys. I can sense great suffering, and great grief." His gaze lingers on Merlin's face, tracing the jagged scar.

Merlin scowls, feeling exposed and uncomfortable under the piercing stare. "That's not why I'm here," he grits out.

Iseldir raises an eyebrow. "Then why are you here, Emrys?"

"I want to end the suffering of those with magic. I want to end Camelot's reign of misery and persecution." His hands clench into fists. "I want to end the Pendragon line once and for all. But I need help, others who will fight for the cause."

Something sad flashes across Iseldir's gaze. "You will recall, Emrys, that Morgana once asked the same of us. And you know what our answer was."

"I am not Morgana," Merlin hisses. 

"No, but you follow the same path, and will surely meet the same end. I am sorry, Emrys, but we cannot help you."

"Cannot, or will not?"

Iseldir is silent, but Merlin sees the answer in his eyes. 

"Well I, for one, will not stand by and watch as our kin are slaughtered and hunted," he snarls. "Morgana was _right_ , and I intend to finish what she started. If you will not join me, then you stand against me." He stands up, drawing his hood back over his face and striding out.

"Emrys."

Merlin stops at the entrance to the tent, seething with anger.

"None of us can choose our destiny, and none of us can escape it."

Merlin turns his head slightly, something cold growing in his chest. "I don't believe in destiny anymore, Iseldir. And neither should you."

He leaves without another word, melting back into the forest. The Druids watch him go in silence, their weighty stares haunting Merlin for miles afterwards.

* * *

 He slams his fist down on the table, magic sparking in anger. Aithusa cowers in the corner, watching him with wide eyes.

"How  _dare_ they! After everything Camelot has done to them, they still refuse to fight back! They are cowards, all of them." Merlin heaves for breath, feeling the cracks in his facade widen, madness slipping in. He laughs wildly, a brittle sound.

"If I have to do this alone, so be it. I will kill Arthur myself. I want to watch him die, watch him suffer as I suffered. I want to put his head on a spike and watch as the crows feast on his eyes!" His lips curls, the candle on the table flaring with his magic.

He takes several deep breaths, reining his magic back in as clarity returns, a sour taste in his mouth and a curious pain in his chest. He turns to Aithusa, crumbling at her wary expression.

"Aithusa," he murmurs, extending a hand. "Aithusa, I'm sorry. Come here."

Aithusa limps forwards, hesitantly pushing into Merlin's hand. He exhales, scratching the dulled scales and trying to ignore the ache in his chest that makes it hard to breathe, a crushing pressure that whispers dangerous things into his mind. He manages to stumble into bed, curling into himself as Aithusa rests her head on the mattress, pushing into his chest. Merlin eventually drops into a restless sleep, plagued by flashes of angry blue eyes and flashing swords and screams; of darkness and cold stone at his back, Aithusa's cries echoing into nothingness.


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur sits at the Round Table, fingers steepled together as he listens to Leon drone on about the reports from Brechfan. Gwen sits on his left, expression attentive but slightly glazed eyes giving away how bored she is as well; the knights all look close to falling asleep and even Leon's voice sounds as if he cannot bear to speak any longer. The seat on Arthur's right is empty, and yet it feels like a distinct presence at his side, constantly whispering into his ear and making his chest ache. He cannot bear to look at it. 

"-and lastly-" Leon pauses, voice growing more serious, and Arthur sits up straighter in his chair, blinking to attention -"we have heard reports of strange occurrences on the Northern border."

Arthur frowns. "Strange occurrences?"

"A patrol was attacked, but they do not know who by. The person used magic, my lord."

_Magic._ The word sends a murmur through the table, Arthur's heartbeat quickening. 

"What were they after?"

"I do not know," Leon replies. "But one of the men was taken."

"Who?"

"Sir Kay."

Arthur grinds his teeth. Sir Kay is one of his up and coming knights, with much potential. He doesn't want to think what the sorcerer intends for him. He steels himself. 

"And how many dead?"

Leon hesitates. "None, my lord." Arthur blinks in surprise, and another murmur passes through the table. "The sorcerer took Sir Kay and fled, it appears. No one saw his face."

Arthur nods, turning it over in his mind. It couldn't be...no. It's been two years without anything. Surely he wouldn't turn up now.

"Thank you, Sir Leon. Double the patrols, I want Sir Kay found as soon as possible and the sorcerer brought to justice." Arthur stands. "Council is adjourned."

There's the sound of scraping chairs as the council members get up, the knights filing out in a line. Gwen doesn't look at him as she passes, chin head high. She hasn't talked to him since that night a week ago, when she'd told him plainly what she thought of him. He reaches out and grabs her arm, the room emptied of all but them.

"Guinevere."

She stops, turning to him with face tightly composed but eyes holding a question.

"You were right," Arthur says. "I haven't been behaving like a king. That is my fault, and my fault alone. I am sorry."

Gwen's face softens, but Arthur isn't done.

"I know he was your friend, too," he continues. "And Gaius like a father. I should have realized how much their loss would affect you."

Gwen nods, tears glistening in her eyes. "Thank you, Arthur. But don't you think...maybe it's time to let go? To grieve, as we did for Morgana."

"He's not dead."

"It's been two years without anything, Arthur-"

"He's not." Arthur isn't sure how he knows, but something deep in his soul tells him he would feel it, would know if he were dead. "He's alive, somewhere."

"But Gaius isn't. At least let yourself grieve for him, Arthur."

"I have." Arthur gentles his tone. "I have grieved for Gaius, Guinevere. I loved him."

"You loved Merlin too." Gwen's voice is sharp, and Arthur flinches slightly. "Don't you think it's time to move on? To put everything behind us?"

"I have."

Gwen raises an eyebrow, a motion so reminiscent of Gaius that Arthur feels a pang of grief. 

"Alright," he admits. "Alright, what do you want me to say?"

"The truth."

Something inside Arthur cracks open, a wound that's still raw and festering. "What?" he says, voice raised. "What, that I loved Merlin? That even after-after everything, I still love him? That he made me a better person, a better king? That without him, I don't know who I am?" He turns away, gripping the vacant chair until his knuckles whiten as he struggles to regain his composure. "There's nothing I can do, Gwen. Talking about it won't change what happened."

"No." Gwen's voice is soft again. "No, but you need to move forward, before it kills you."

Arthur says nothing. Gwen sets a hand on his arm, squeezing once before sweeping out of the room and leaving him to his thoughts, the doors shutting softly behind her and leaving Arthur alone. 

* * *

 Arthur is readying for bed when the door to his chambers creak open, soft footsteps shuffling across the stones. He turns, seeing a figure emerge in the darkness; Arthur grabs his sword from beside his bed and creeps forwards, point extended.

"Who goes there?"

The figure steps forward into the flickering light from the candles, illuminating his face. Arthur lowers his sword, brow creasing.

"Kay?"

Kay's eyes are sightless, expression glazed and movements stiff. His mouth opens, voice raspy and layered with something otherworldly.

"Arthur Pendragon," he says, blank eyes boring into Arthur. "You have brought misery and bloodshed upon the people's of this land. You have hunted and killed innocents, have trampled on sacred rites and ignored the warnings of the Old Religion. You have caused untold suffering, and for this you will pay."

Arthur raises his sword again, anger sparking. "I have vowed to protect the people's of this land. Tell me what injustices I've done."

"What injustices? You, who have persecuted those with magic, who have killed and tortured them without care for the lives you shatter, the families you destroy. You are as bad as your father." Kay's voice somehow drips with derision even as it manages to be toneless.

"I have upheld the law. I have not condemned anyone without just cause."

Kay laughs, the sound harsh and grating. "Just cause? You condemn innocents simply for having magic, for something they cannot control. You condemn those who would use it to heal, to do good."

Arthur shakes his head. "You are wrong."

"Am I, Arthur? Am I?"

Arthur feels his breath leave him in a rush. There's only one person, one sorcerer who calls him  _Arthur._ He takes a deep breath, stepping closer to Kay.

"Face me yourself. Stop hiding behind your pawns. Or are you too much of a coward, _Merlin._ "

Kay's eyes flash and then he crumples, sliding to the floor. A figure steps out of the corner of the room, shrouded in darkness. Arthur can only make out a dark cloak, the hood covering the figure's face.

"Miss me?" Merlin's voice is low and mocking but it's undeniably him, and Arthur feels something in his chest lighten.

"I knew it," he breathes. "I knew you were still alive."

"Despite your best efforts," Merlin spits back, face still in shadow. 

Arthur's brow creases in confusion. "I never tried to kill you."

Merlin laughs, the sound grating and false. "Oh, so you're lying to yourself now as well?"

"I don't think you get to talk to me about lies," Arthur returns savagely. He knows his comment hits its mark when Merlin stiffens, the briefest flash of gold emanating from under his hood. 

"I'm going to enjoy killing you," Merlin snarls, voice full of hatred Arthur's not sure what he did to deserve. He thinks of Morgana, of the sadness that had filled her eyes as he drove Excalibur home, the way she'd clung to him in death. She had been kind, too, once. He had never thought she would betray him. 

Arthur takes a step closer, grief overwhelming his anger. He catches a glimpse of blue eyes glimmering beneath the hood, eyes that had once looked on him with unabashed love and pride. What had gone wrong?

"What happened to you, Merlin?" he questions softly. "I thought we were friends."

Something flashes in those blue eyes, there and gone again. "As did I," Merlin replies, and his voice is laced with equal sadness. "But I guess we were both wrong."

"You cannot blame me for you own sins."

Merlin scoffs, the flash of tenderness gone in an instant. "My sins? I know my sins, and they do not include magic. Tell me, is it a crime to be born?"

"I don't care about that!" Arthur shouts, realizing it's the truth. "I don't care if you were born with magic." His voice shakes. "That doesn't excuse what you did."

"What I did?" Merlin sounds incredulous. "So self-defense is a crime now, too?"

"Self-defense? What in the world are you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about!" Merlin's voice borders on madness, the air thickening with what Arthur can only assume is magic. 

"Merlin, I don't know what you're talking about."

Merlin steps forwards into the light, yanking off his hood. "I'm talking about  _this."_

Arthur stares in horror, sword lowering in shock. A jagged scar runs from above Merlin's left eye to his cheek, long-healed but still prominent. Merlin's eyes are like chips of ice, glinting with madness and underscored by deep shadows that contrast sharply with the pallor of his face. A bitter smile curves his mouth, lips pale and bloodless.

"Like what you see?" he taunts. "It may not have been by your hand, but you did this to me, Arthur Pendragon. It was youwho killed Gaius-"

"Gaius' death was an accident!"

"If you believe that, then you're a fool." Merlin studies him, contempt in his eyes. "Gaius died because he tried to protect me. Because he got between me and a sword."

Arthur straightens, feeling off-balance, like his whole world is crashing around his ears. He sighs tiredly, sword dropping. "That still doesn't change what you did, Merlin. You killed men, good men."

Merlin's jaw tightens, eyes glittering. "They killed me first, Arthur. _You_ killed me first."

"More lies! You never gave me a chance! You  _left,_ Merlin."  _You left me,_ he doesn't say.

Merlin's eyes flash dangerously and Arthur takes an involuntary step back. "Like I had a  _choice,"_ Merlin snarls.

"What are you talking about? Of course you had a choice. You had a choice to kill those men, to run. And I'm sorry-" Arthur swallows. "I'm sorry about Gaius, about..." He trails off, glancing at the scar on Merlin's face. "But you can't blame me for that."

Merlin stares at him with unreadable eyes, looking older than Arthur's ever seen him. There's something broken in his gaze, like shattered glass, and Arthur wants nothing more than to reach out, to smooth a hand over Merlin's cheek and forget everything that's happened, to mend everything that's been broken between them.  _How did it come to this?_ he wonders. Where did they go wrong? He had thought it would be them, together, forever, but somewhere along the way Merlin had turned away from him and become lost, and Arthur doesn't know how to fix it.

"You're wrong," Merlin finally says. "I do blame you. For everything." His eyes turn hard again, cold as ice. "I want you to suffer as I suffered, as those with magic have suffered under your rule." He takes a step closer, scarce feet away from Arthur now. "I want you to know what it feels like to lose everything."

Arthur meets his gaze, hand clenching around his sword but unable to raise it for some unknown reason, some instinct long buried that screams for him to  _protect,_ never to harm. He cannot hurt Merlin. 

"You are not so different from Morgana," Arthur says evenly. "She could not win against me."

"Morgana was  _right,"_ Merlin snaps. "And the only reason she was defeated was because of  _me._ She was nothing compared to me. You cannot begin to imagine the power I hold." His mouth twists in a smirk reminiscent of Morgana, eyes glittering with hatred. "Camelot will fall, and you will fall with her. I will make sure not another person suffers because of your hatred and your ignorance."

"It is not I who is full of hatred."

Merlin's eyes flash and Arthur flinches but nothing happens, Merlin's mouth curled in a snarl.

"I do hate you," Merlin says. "More than you know."

Another flash of his eyes and he disappears, gone so quickly it's as if he was never there at all. The candles in the room flicker, all quiet except for Arthur's ragged breathing. He bends down by Kay's body, checking for a pulse. It beats steadily under his fingers and Arthur lets out a sigh of relief, running a hand over his face as he slumps to the floor, something inside his chest shattered beyond repair. Merlin's words swim around his mind, strange and confusing. Arthur feels like he's missing something, something big, but he doesn't know what. All he knows is that Merlin is alive, is here, and he hates Arthur. 

"Oh Merlin," Arthur whispers. "What happened to you?"

There is no response, only the whistle of the wind through his open window.


	4. Chapter 4

Merlin reappears in his hovel, falling to his knees as something cracks open inside him, the facade he'd tried to maintain crumbling. He'd never meant to confront Arthur himself, to get that close. It was why he'd used that knight as a pawn, a front. Until Arthur taunted him, and Merlin found himself in the room before he could think twice. Close enough to touch, to kill. But he hadn't. He'd had Arthur right there, and yet he couldn't kill him. _It wasn't the right time,_ he tells himself. But he knows that it's only an excuse. Because as much as he tries, as much as he feeds that spark of anger and darkness inside him, his last words to Arthur were still a lie. He cannot hate Arthur, not the way he wants to. Somewhere, deep inside, he still  _lov-_

No. Merlin clutches at his traitorous heart, digging fingers in as if he can carve the offending appendage from his chest. A sob rips from his chest, frustration and anger and an emotion he pushes down, something remarkably close to hurt. He slams a hand on the rough floor, and then again, and again, until his chest is heaving and the moment of weakness has passed, leaving his chest feeling cold and empty. Only then does he raise his head, sitting back on his heels and composing himself once more. 

Aithusa trills softly from the corner, watching him uncertainly. Merlin barely manages to drag himself into bed, sudden exhaustion pulling at his limbs and the cold feeling spreading through his extremities, turning them numb. He curls on his side, extending a hand and closing his eyes. A moment later Aithusa is pushing into his hand, snuffling softly before curling up beside the bed, nose still pressed to the hand that dangles off the side. Merlin falls into sleep, Aithusa's breath tickling his wrist.

* * *

  _He falls to the floor, white-hot pain erupting in his face and the world blurring as blood streams down his eye. He raises a hand on instinct, cowering, as the blade flashes downwards. A form moves in his vision, stepping in front of him, and he hears the sickening sound of blade meeting flesh as Gaius staggers, a small gasp falling from his lips._

_"No-"_

_Time slows. Merlin surges up, catching Gaius as he falls._

_"No!"_

_The world explodes outwards in a burst of power, windows shattering and stone crumbling as the guards are thrown through the air, hitting the wall with a crack-_

Merlin wakes abruptly, breathing heavily. He lays there for a moment before easing up with a groan, joints cracking and muscles aching. Teleportation magic always hurts, the feeling like squeezing his body through a too-small tube unsettling. 

He washes and makes breakfast, feeding Aithusa a haunch of deer and straightening up the hovel. It used to be Morgana's, back when she was still Camelot's biggest threat. She'd even captured him and brought him here, had put the fomorrah in him to try and get him to kill Arthur. Merlin almost chuckles at the idea. If only she could see him now. He doesn't need any encouragement to kill Arthur. 

_Or does he?_ He'd had Arthur in his grasp yesterday, and what had he done? Argued, and tried to talk, like Arthur was capable of being reasoned with. Like Merlin couldn't kill him with a snap of his fingers. So why hadn't he?

_You know why,_ his heart whispers. Merlin shoves it down, locking it tightly away. There is no room for foolish sentiment. Arthur must die, and Camelot must fall. It is the only way.

* * *

 He moves swiftly through the shadows, drawing darkness around him like a cloak. The guards fall with a flash of his eyes, slumbering peacefully as Merlin steps over them. They may not know, Merlin reasons. They may be young men, blinded by a need to serve their kingdom, having no hand in or knowledge of the atrocities perpetrated by their king. This, he tells himself, is why he doesn't kill them. 

He reaches the cells unmolested, the occupants regarding him curiously as he approaches. The locks break with a whispered word, letting a third of the prisoners free. Only those who are innocent of anything but using magic.

"Go," he tells them, keeping his head down. Many scramble past, not questioning their sudden freedom. A few hesitate, staring at him warily.

"Who are you?" one asks.

Merlin only hesitates a moment. "Emrys," he replies. "Now go."

Only a few seem to know the name, Druids judging by the tattoos visible on their bodies. They bow quickly and then disappear, leaving Merlin alone but for the prisoners still in the cells. He turns to leave, striding out quickly as the remaining prisoners shout after him, voices tinged with anger.

"Hey! Where are you going? We're still here!"

Their fate means little to him. He doesn't turn, catching up with the freed sorcerers and leading them out of Camelot and into the woods. Here he stops, addressing the group.

"Where you go now is up to you."

Some murmur thanks, others simply duck away into the shadows. A Druid girl approaches Merlin, not stopping until she stands only a foot away. 

"Thank you, Emrys," she says, peering up at his face. "But do not forget; all is not as it seems. Trust you heart. You know the way." She reaches up a hand, tracing over his scar as he stands still, rooted to the spot by some unknown force. Her touch is whisper-light, the barest brush of fingers, and his eyes flutter closed of their own volition. When he opens them, she is gone, the clearing dark and still. He shakes himself, heading back to his abode, but the unsettled feeling remains.

* * *

Arthur orders a hunt for the escaped sorcerers, as Merlin knew he would. He can hear the pounding of hooves as knights ride past the hovel, knows that Arthur is probably seething with anger right now. The thought makes him smile. 

He's gathering herbs when a search team finds him, the footfalls of the men as they dismount their horses and edge closer making a wicked smile curve Merlin's lips. He stands with his back to them, ears trained on their quiet breaths and the crunch of twigs under their boots. He could kill them in a second, he knows, but the assurance is tinged with a hint of fear borne of the images that haunt his nightmares. They cannot hurt him now, but once, they had. 

"Show yourself!"

With a jolt he realizes it's Leon's voice, and it only makes the burning rage under his skin grow. He raises his hands and turns slowly, lowering the hood of his cloak. He registers a surprised gasp, and the faces of knights who had once been friends to him slackened in shock. Merlin's smile grows, getting sick pleasure from the expressions of horror and fear on the their faces.

"Long time no see," Merlin says nonchalantly. "How are the famed knights of Camelot doing these days, I wonder?"

Leon raises his sword, taking a step towards him, the knights' hands all tight on their sword hilts. 

"Surrender," he orders. "If you come quietly, we won't hurt you."

Merlin pretends to consider for a moment, then shakes his head, sighing theatrically. "No, I don't think I will."

"Merlin mate, come on. We don't want to hurt you." It's Gwaine, and for a moment Merlin feels a pang of regret. Gwaine, once one of his closest friends. But he, too, had betrayed him, had chosen Arthur over Merlin. The grief is quickly swept aside by anger. 

"How  _noble,"_ Merlin snarls. Gwaine stiffens, eyes flashing. So he still hasn't told the others about his heritage, Merlin muses. "As if you could hurt me," he continues, voice dripping with disdain. 

"That scar says differently," Leon remarks. 

Something snaps as his rage boils over, eyes flashing. Leon flies through the air, landing hard against a tree as Merlin extends a hand, keeping him there. He curls his fingers and Leon chokes, eyes bulging wide and face turning purple. The knights charge and Merlin throws out his other hand, sending them sailing through the air the hit the ground with a thump. He stalks towards Leon, loosening his magic just enough so Leon sucks in strained gulps of air. His hand closes around Leon's throat, seeing the knight's wide eyes flick to his as he struggles futilely.

"Tell Arthur Emrys sends his regards," Merlin hisses. 

"Tell him yourself."

Merlin whirls, Leon slumping to the ground. Arthur stands before him, sunlight glinting off his chainmail and Excalibur humming in his grip, blue eyes stormy as he meets Merlin's gaze. Merlin's heart pounds, panic flowing through him for an instant as he tries to regain his composure, caught off guard by Arthur's arrival. 

"We've got to stop meeting like this," he tries, voice shakier than he intended. 

Arthur's lip quirks slightly as he takes a step forward, glance darting to Leon's crumpled form. "Well, if you didn't keep attacking me..."

Merlin senses the other knights shift to his right, creeping forwards. Keeping his eyes on Arthur's he holds up a hand and clenches it into a fist, hearing the knights choke and fall to their knees. Arthur's face tightens.

"Let them go."

"Is that an order?" he taunts.

"Let them go, Merlin."

The knights wheeze. Merlin relaxes and tightens his fist, keeping them just on the edge of consciousness. 

"I don't answer to you anymore. I'm not your _servant._ "

"Were you ever?" Arthur returns. "Or was that another lie? Pretending to be a servant, to, what? Get closer to me so you could take over?"

Merlin takes a step forwards, fury blazing in his chest. " _Everything_ I did was for you!" he snarls. "I gave you  _everything,_ and you repaid me with betrayal."

"Betrayal?  _You're_ the one who betrayed me!"

"I saved your life! Again!" Merlin takes another step forwards, mere feet from Arthur, both of them too caught up in their words to strike. "And you ordered them to  _kill_ me!"

For a moment Merlin sees Arthur's face crease in genuine confusion, eyes searching Merlin's, and his heart skips a beat. Arthur opens his mouth, and Merlin hears the whistle of an arrow too late, pain blossoming in his shoulder as it finds its mark. He turns slightly, seeing Leon staggering on his feet, crossbow trained on him. Time slows. Merlin's eyes flash, and Leon flies across the clearing to crumple on the ground as Arthur shouts behind him. 

"No!"

Another flash of his eyes and Arthur flies through the air, landing heavily on the ground as his sword skitters out of his grasp. Merlin gasps in pain, reaching over his shoulder to feel the arrow sticking out of his back, blood already soaking through his cloak. 

Oh, how history repeats itself, he thinks. He wonders why the betrayal stings all the same. He's learned his lesson, hasn't he? Never trust a Pendragon.

"Merlin-" Arthur grunts, struggling to get up. Merlin murmurs the words to the teleportation spell, the clearing disappearing. The last thing he sees is Arthur's face, twisted with grief.   

* * *

 

It takes two weeks for his shoulder to heal sufficiently to use. The air is crisp and cold when he finally leaves the hovel, cloak drawn around him and Aithusa at his heels. He stares at the spires of Camelot in the distance, feeling cold rage burn his insides and his magic spark to life, crackling at his fingertips.

It's time. 


	5. Chapter 5

Arthur knows even before the alarm bells start to ring, their clanging echoing through the corridors and sending knights sprinting to their stations. He is already dressed and waiting in the dim light of his room, grim resolution settling in his gut. For good or ill, this is the moment of truth. The moment to end this once and for all. 

Arthur strides down the corridor, footsteps falling like anvils on the stone floor, heavy and resolute. The corridor seems to stretch for miles, the shouts of the guards fading away in Arthur's ears.

The castle shakes. 

Arthur strides on as chunks of stone fall around him, crumbling into dust. Somewhere, someone is screaming. 

Lighting cracks across the darkened sky. Thunder rumbles a warning, sinking into Arthur's bones. His footsteps do not waver. 

He steps into the throne room, boots treading softly across the floor as he makes his way to the throne, Gwen and his knights following close behind. Excalibur shifts on his hip, catching the torchlight. Arthur turns scarce feet from the throne, and his knights move to flank him, swords drawn. Gwen's arm presses against his, her hands clenched tightly around her sword. There's a rumble of thunder, and the castle shakes again. Arthur takes a deep breath, then another. 

The doors explode inwards.

* * *

  _Two weeks earlier_

* * *

 Arthur struggles to his feet, staring at the spot where Merlin has just vanished. His gaze flicks up to Leon, who is still holding the crossbow, and he feels a tug of _something_ under his breastbone that feels a lot like anger and guilt and grief but that he quickly squashes down.

"Why did you do that?" he demands.

Leon shifts, looking uncertain as the crossbow lowers. "He was...threatening you, my lord. I thought..."

Arthur grabs his sword from the ground, stalking away. He hears the footsteps of his knights follow, evidently none the worse for wear after being choked by Merlin. Merlin, who is surely bleeding and in pain right now, Merlin whose eyes are filled with anger and hurt and  _betrayal,_ as if he is not the one who tore them apart. Merlin whose words echo through Arthur's mind, strange and confusing. 

_I saved your life! Again! And you ordered them to kill me!_

Merlin had said something similar, in Arthur's chambers.  _Self-defense,_ he'd said. But from what? Arthur had never ordered Merlin killed, he knows that. Merlin had fought off Morgana with magic, saving them, and then Arthur had lost track of him in the chaos of the battle, re-taking the castle and treating the wounded. He'd sent guards to find Merlin and bring him to Arthur so they could  _talk,_ but instead Merlin had slaughtered them and fled, leaving behind Gaius' body.

_Gaius died because he got between me and a sword._

Alright, Arthur could see that happening. He had even thought that that might have been what happened, contrary to the guard's report that it was an accident. Perhaps when the guards had attempted to defend themselves, Gaius had gotten in the way. He was like a father to Merlin, after all. Arthur had long since accepted that Gaius must have known about Merlin's magic, had put together the pieces of years of lies between them both. He knows that Merlin must have been Dragoon, and that Merlin killed his father. He also knows that Merlin must have saved his life too many times to count, something he still doesn't understand. What was the point? Why would Merlin save his life time after time, year after year?

And why had he run? Right after Merlin had saved him from Morgana, he'd pleaded with Arthur. 

_I was born with it,_ he'd said.  _And I use it for you, Arthur. Only for you._

And Arthur had swallowed down the feelings of betrayal and rage and turned aside, the battle still not over. 

_Later, Merlin,_ he'd said. He'd killed Morgana, driven the last of the Southrons out, freed the remaining prisoners; Merlin was helping Gaius with the wounded, since Gaius was barely able to stand on his own. Not wanting to take the trouble to go all the way down to the physician's quarters, and needing time to think of what he was going to say, Arthur had sent the guards to fetch Merlin so they could talk. He realizes now that he'd never had any doubt that Merlin would still be there, or that Merlin had betrayed them. He'd been hurt, and angry at the lies, but he'd still  _trusted_ Merlin. 

Until Merlin had taken out the entire physician's quarters, the entire tower, and a dozen guards before fleeing. 

Why?

He'd thought, all this time, that Merlin must have been betraying him all along and had run before his deception was uncovered along with his magic. But none of it makes sense. In his heart, he can't believe that Merlin is... _was_ truly evil. Merlin had saved his life over and over, had provided support and council and friendship to Arthur, had been a servant for years without (much) complaint or question, had been at his side, always. He had proved his loyalty to Arthur ten times over, had done more for him than any knight.

And he had just saved all of Camelot from Morgana, surely he knew that Arthur wasn't going to execute him? Why would he run? 

_You ordered them to kill me!_

_Self-defense is a crime now, too?_

Arthur stops short, Leon nearly bumping into him. The puzzle pieces click into place, and a sinking suspicion settles in Arthur's gut, heavy and painful in its implications.

"Sire? Arthur?"

"Oh no," he breathes.

He's made a terrible mistake.

* * *

 He knocks on the door to the small house, checking the streets to make sure he hasn't been followed. The door creaks open, an older women peering around it. Her eyes widen as she takes in Arthur and she hastily curtsies, stammering out honorifics.

Arthur raises a hand. "Please. Call me Arthur. I'm looking for your husband, is he home? I just want to talk to him."

The woman nods shakily, opening the door for Arthur to come in. The inside is small, cramped, the scent of straw and freshly baked bread meeting Arthur's nose as he glances around at the bare walls and scuffed floor. A man comes limping out of a side room, looking surprised to see Arthur. 

"Cadogan?" Arthur questions.

The man nods. "Aye, that's me, your majesty. Am I in trouble?"

"No, no. I just want to ask you a few questions. Please, sit down."

Cadogan shuffles to a seat, sinking into it with a groan. Arthur sits down across from him, clasping his hands on the table.

"You were one of the guards involved in the...." He trails off, clearing off and starting over. "Over two years ago, you were injured while on duty. Correct?"

Cadogan nods, grimacing. "Yeah, the sorcerer. I remember. Heard he's showin' his face again 'round these parts." He grins crookedly. "Mind you, not quite such a pretty face these days, I assume. I got him right good, I did."

Arthur feels himself go cold and forces his hands to remain unclenched on the table, taking a deep breath. "It was you that caused the injury to his face?"

Cadogan shrugs, but the gleam in his eye is proud. "Caught him off guard, before he had a chance to strike."

"Before?" Arthur's voice is sharp. "He didn't attack first?"

Cadogan waves a hand. "He was about to, I could tell. Could see it in his eyes. They're slippery, those sorcerers. Gotta strike first, or you don't stand a chance."

Arthur leans forward, keeping his expression carefully composed. "I see. So, when he killed the other guards, that was after you struck him?"

Cadogan shifts, something flashing in his eyes that Arthur catalogues as a lie. "Yeah," he grunts. "Barely made it out of there alive. I was lying on the ground, covered in rubble, and I guess he thought I was dead. Other guy wasn't so lucky. Brave lad. Stabbed 'im, he did, as the sorcerer was fleeing. The sorcerer snapped his neck like it was nothing."

Arthur swallows, feeling faintly sick. He stands up abruptly, trying to keep his expression neutral as he makes to leave.

"Thank you," he says stiffly. "This has been most illuminating."

"Glad I could help." Cadogan sketches a short bow, wobbling on his bad leg. Arthur turns to leave, hesitating in the doorway.

"Is there anyone else? Anyone who survived the-" Arthur swallows. "-attack?"

Cadogan nods. "Young lad. Name's Brennis."

* * *

 He finds Brennis in the tavern, steadily working his way through his third flagon of ale. He goes pale when Arthur asks about the incident, and takes a large gulp of ale that doesn't hide his trembling hands.

"What do you want to know?"

"The truth," Arthur says firmly. "What really happened that night?"

And Brennis talks, and Arthur feels his chest growing tighter with every damning word. How could he have been so blind? He knows the hatred and fear that his father had instilled against sorcery. He should have known that when he told the guards to  _find Merlin,_ they had only heard  _arrest the sorcerer._

He can see what happened in his mind's eye, Brennis's words wrapping fingers around his conscience and squeezing. The words themselves fade away, and Arthur watches with horror as the events replay in his mind, crystal clear.

_The guards burst through the door to the physician's chambers, startling Merlin and Gaius._

_"Sorcerer," Cadogan hisses._

_Merlin raises his hands in surrender, but the guards only see a sorcerer about to strike. Cadogan's sword flashes out, emboldened with hatred and fear. Merlin tries to duck but the sword cuts through his face and he falls to the ground, bleeding. Merlin raises a hand, cowering against the next blow. Cadogan raises his sword again. Gaius steps in front of Merlin as the sword flashes down, a gasp falling from his lips. There is a moment's pause, time stretching out forever as Gaius falls, Merlin surging up to catch him._

_"No!"_

_The world explodes in a burst of power, windows shattering and stone crumbling as the guards are thrown through the air, hitting the wall with a crack. Brennis lays on the ground, injured but alive, watching as Merlin kneels beside Gaius._

_"Go," Gaius whispers._

_Merlin shakes his head. "I won't leave you, Gaius."_

_Gaius clutches Merlin's hand and Merlin sobs, tears mingling with the blood on his face._

_"Merlin....you have...to go...."_

_Gaius' hand goes limp, eyes staring upwards unseeing. Merlin crumbles for a moment before looking around at the destruction, the bodies. Anger and grief flash in his face as he closes Gaius' eyes, resting his hand gently on his chest. Then he pushes himself to his feet, staggering towards the exit. A guard shifts in the rubble, managing to free himself. There's the flash of a blade and a sword sinks into Merlin's side, drawing a cry from his lips. The guard's neck snaps and he slumps to the floor again, sightless eyes staring at Brennis. Merlin stumbles, a hand pressed to his side, before he disappears around the corner._

"I still see his face," Brennis finishes quietly. "Every night, I see his face." 

* * *

 He finds himself in Gwen's chambers, telling her everything that has happened and that he's found since Merlin first showed up in his chambers. She listens attentively, gasping with horror at the revelation of that fateful night and eyes glistening with tears.

"It's my fault," Arthur says, pressing his hands to his head. "It's my fault."

Gwen grasps his arm tightly, voice choked. "No. It's not your fault. You couldn't have known what the guards would do."

"But I should have realized. I know how we treat sorcerers. I know the hatred and fear towards magic. But because it was Merlin, I assumed..."

"That it would be different?" Gwen finishes.

Arthur nods. "I didn't...I don't even care about the magic," he admits. "I never even considered having him executed. Banished, maybe. But I could never wish him dead."

"I know."

"But he thinks I betrayed him, he thinks..." Arthur shakes his head. "It's too late."

"It's not. It's not too late." Gwen's fingers tighten on his arm. "Tell him, Arthur. It's Merlin, of course he'll forgive you."

"You didn't see him, Gwen." Arthur sighs. "He hates me. He's not-it's too late."

"You can't believe that." Gwen's voice is sharp. "It's  _Merlin._ He's my friend, Arthur. Your friend."

"So was Morgana."

Gwen inhales sharply, and Arthur feels a pang of guilt. It was a low blow, he knows. Gwen snatches her hand from his arm like she's been burned. 

"I'm not giving up on him," she snaps. "I don't care what it takes." She gets up, striding towards the door. She pauses, glaring at Arthur. "And you know, Morgana was right. We betrayed her first, with our hatred and our ignorance. It was us who twisted her into the monster she became. And I'm not losing another friend because you're too much of a coward to challenge your father's laws. I don't think it is magic that is evil, Arthur. It's people."

She turns to leave but Arthur runs across the room, grabbing her elbow.

"You're right," he says desperately. "You're right, I know. Gwen, please..."

She turns slightly, waiting for him to continue. 

"I don't believe magic is evil, not anymore. If Merlin was born with it, and stayed by my side all those years, protecting me, then it can't be. But he's not the same, Gwen. I'm not sure he can be saved. I'm not sure if anything can fix what I broke." He swallows, feeling tears prick his eyes. "It's not just that night that I'm guilty of. It's years of treating him terribly, of not listening to him, of condemning magic right in front of him. Of killing sorcerers, slaughtering those just like Merlin. I lost him long ago, Guinevere. I was just too blind to see it. And I don't know where he's been for two years, or what happened to him, but the Merlin we knew is gone. There's no bringing him back."

Gwen stares at him for a moment, eyes sparkling in the candlelight. Then her chin tilts up slightly, firming.

"That doesn't mean you don't try," she says, voice surprisingly gentle. "Merlin loved you. He would have done anything for you, despite your flaws. Merlin was kind, and gentle, and loved with his whole heart. If there's even a glimmer of that left, then he can be saved." She raises an eyebrow. "You've seen him, what, twice? And yet you're still alive. Something tells me that, whatever his words, he still can't bring himself to hurt you."

She pats his arm. "I may have been his friend, but you were everything to him. Bring him home, Arthur, for all of us."

* * *

  _Present_

* * *

 

The doors splinter, the crash echoing through the hall. A figure strides in, black cloak sweeping the stones and hood shadowing his face, darkness seeming to gather around him. Golden eyes glow from beneath the hood, sparks dancing at his fingertips. Thunder rumbles, a wind ruffling Arthur's hair even though they are indoors. 

The figure lowers his hood, a smirk twisting his face.

"Hello, Arthur."

"Merlin." Arthur steps forwards, sheathing Excalibur. His footsteps echo on the flagstones as he meets Merlin halfway, the others staying behind him. Behind Merlin a white shape limps, Arthur's eye drawn to it. It's a dragon, but a poor imitation of one. It's barely a third the size of the great dragon, limbs twisted and misshapen and eyes sunken into its head. It lets out a weak growl as he approaches, the sound high and grating. He wonders where Merlin got it, if the dragon's poor form is due to him, somehow. Surely Merlin wouldn't abuse an animal so, would he? 

Merlin sets a hand on the dragon's head before stepping forwards, leaving it behind. He draws up close to Arthur, so close Arthur can see the swirls in the gold of his eyes. It's beautiful, he thinks. 

Merlin's eyes glow brighter and Arthur hears the others behind him fall to the floor, forcing himself not to react.

"Let them go," he says evenly. "It's me you want."

Merlin's golden gaze turns on him, eerie and unblinking. Arthur feels a pressure around his throat, cutting off his air, and then Excalibur slides out of its sheath and into Merlin's hand.  

"Kneel," Merlin snarls. 

Arthur drops to his knees, forcing his hands to remain at his side as he continues to choke. Merlin levels Excalibur at his throat, the pressure easing; Arthur sucks in gulps of air but remains still, the blade cool against his skin.

"I made this sword for you," Merlin says. "And now you will die by it."

"So be it," Arthur replies. 

Merlin stares back, jaw tensing. "Fight back," he demands. 

"No."

The sword presses harder against his neck, sending a twinge of pain through him. 

"Fight back!"

Arthur looks up, meeting Merlin's eyes. "I won't fight you."

There's a tug and he finds himself flying through the air, landing hard and rolling over and over on the stones. Heavy footsteps approach and he is grabbed again, this time flung into the wall and kept there by a pressure around his throat. Merlin stalks forward, face contorted with rage. His hand wraps around Arthur's throat, golden eyes boring into his. He's shaking, Arthur realizes, eyes crazed and power crackling in the air around him, but his grip is loose and Arthur opens his mouth, finding his voice.

"Merlin," he breathes. "I'm sorry."

Merlin's hand tightens slightly around his throat but his expression falters, eyes dimming. "What?"

"I'm sorry," Arthur repeats. "I didn't know. Merlin, I didn't know. I didn't send those guards to kill you."

"What-what are you talking about?" Merlin's voice breaks.

"I sent them to find you. I only wanted to talk. What happened...was never my intention."

For a moment, Merlin looks uncertain, the gold in his eyes fading and brow creased in confusion. Then something snaps and his eyes glow gold again, face hardening and hand tightening on Arthur's throat.

"It doesn't matter," he spits. "You still kill innocents, you hunt down my kin and slaughter them."

"I know." Arthur swallows against the pressure on his throat, tears blurring his vision. "I know. And I'm sorry. I know that nothing can change what happened, the things I've done. But I swear-" His voice breaks and a tear slips down his cheek. "I swear I'll never let it happen again. Sorcerers will no longer have to live in fear. Magic will be given the respect it deserves."

"You'd say anything to save your neck." But Merlin looks unsure, eyes searching Arthur's as if trying to discern the truth.

"I know I don't deserve...your forgiveness," Arthur wheezes. "Or anyone's. But Merlin, please. I know you, and I know you'll never forgive yourself if you kill me." He reaches up, carefully, wrapping his hand around Merlin's wrist. Merlin flinches, and Arthur feels jagged scars under his palm. He forces the questions down, focusing on Merlin, whose eyes are glistening with unshed tears.

"I don't know what happened to you, but it's not too late. Come home, Merlin. Please," Arthur whispers. 

Merlin's lip curls, pain and anger shining in his eyes.

"You won't hurt me," Arthur says softly. 

Merlin's grip tightens, arm shaking under Arthur's hand. His breathing is uneven, teeth clenched tightly and eyes narrowed in frustration, pain written on his features. He squeezes tighter, something like a sob tearing from his chest, and Arthur's vision swims. He has a moment to think that he was wrong, that Merlin will kill him after all, before the pressure on his throat eases and he blinks to see blue eyes staring back at him, shattered and vulnerable. Arthur reaches out slowly, hand cupping Merlin's cheek. 

Merlin flinches, and then something cracks and he stumbles forwards, collapsing into Arthur's arms as he sobs. Arthur rests his chin on his head, drawing deep breaths as he looks upwards, relief flowing through him. One hand cradles Merlin's head, the other wrapped around his shaking form, and he tightens his hold as Merlin clings to him, warm and real in Arthur's arms. 


	6. Chapter 6

Merlin wakes slowly, awareness trickling in as he takes stock of his surroundings. He is lying on something soft and there are voices nearby, murmuring quietly; gentle fingers caress his brow, the touch soothing and familiar. He keeps his breathing even, feigning sleep as he tries to work out where he is, listening in the the hushed conversation. 

"-two years. We have no idea what he was doing, or where he was." It's Arthur's voice, which sends a rush of confusing emotions through Merlin. He hates Arthur. No, he loves him. No, he-he... It is both, he thinks. Hate and love. He will not harm Arthur, but there is still something broken between them, something he's not sure they can ever fix. 

"He'll tell us, in his own time," Gwen's voice replies, significantly more welcome. "Don't push him, Arthur. The fact that he's here is enough."

"I know." Arthur sighs. 

"Why don't you go eat something," Gwen says. "I'll stay with him."

"Are you sure?"

"Arthur, go."

There's the sound of a chair scraping and footsteps against the flagstones, a weight lifting from Merlin's chest as the door opens and then swings shut. 

"Merlin. I know you're awake."

Merlin opens his eyes, blinking in the dim light and glancing over to where Gwen sits at his bedside, watching him with gentle brown eyes. He looks away, feeling something like shame curl in his gut. Gwen was his first friend, his truest friend, and yet she feels like a stranger now.

He sits up, wincing as scar tissue pulls and his aching muscles protest, vision blurring slightly. 

"Are you injured?" Gwen makes an aborted movement as if to help him. 

"I'm fine," he snaps, sharper than intended. He sucks in a deep breath, waiting for the room to stop spinning. "What happened?" Panic claws at him. "Where's Aithusa?"

"You singlehandedly rebuilt the castle and then collapsed," Gwen replies with a small smile. "Your dragon-I assume that's Aithusa-is right here. She wouldn't let us touch you at first, but once she figured out we were just trying to help she backed off."

Sure enough there's a shuffling and Aithusa comes into view, Merlin sighing in relief. He extends a hand, just noticing that he appears to be in Arthur's bed, in Arthur's chambers. Aithusa pushes into his hand, snuffling softly, before laying her head on the bed. Gwen looks on from the other side, showing no fear of the dragon but sharp eyes assessing their interaction. 

"She's very devoted," Gwen remarks. "Where did you get her?"

Merlin hesitates before answering. He supposes it doesn't matter now, whatever secrets he spills. "I hatched her."

"Oh. How old is she?"

"Three summers." He still doesn't look at Gwen, scratching Aithusa's neck ridges with singleminded focus.

He hears Gwen take a breath. "Did something...happen to her? She doesn't look well."

Merlin's left hand fists in the bedsheets, jaw clenched. "She was captured," he replies shortly. He slips off the bed, looking for his boots and cloak. He's dressed only in his dark breeches and tunic, laces untied and sleeves pushed too far up his wrists for comfort. He quickly pulls them down over the scars, ignoring Gwen's inquiring gaze, and locates his boots, pulling them on. Gwen stands up, circling around the bed.

"Merlin...where are you going?" she asks hesitantly. 

Merlin straightens up, meeting her eyes coldly. "Why? I'm not under arrest, am I?" The words come out bitter, tripping off his tongue like knives.

"No. Of course not."

Merlin turns, finding his cloak slung over a chair and pulling it on. 

"Merlin, please, stay." Gwen moves closer, eyes imploring. "Arthur wants to see you. And so do I." She reaches out slowly, setting a hand on his arm. "I miss you."

Merlin swallows the surge of emotion, shrugging Gwen's hand off and heading towards the door, Aithusa at his heels. "I won't attack Camelot again, if that's what you're worried about."

"I'm worried about  _you."_ Merlin stops, back to Gwen. "You're my friend, Merlin. Let me help you."

Merlin turns, glaring at Gwen. "I don't _need_ your help," he hisses. "If you know what's good for you, you'll leave me alone." He turns again, almost to the doorway when Gwen's voice stops him again.

"Camelot is your  _home."_

"Not anymore."

* * *

He gets to the hovel well before Aithusa, having used the teleportation spell while she's forced to fly from Camelot. Even that slight magic leaves him drained, and he realizes how much he'd overextended himself tearing the castle down and then rebuilding it in one night. Gods, what is he doing? His thoughts are a jumble, contradictory emotions warring with each other and leaving him dizzy. Part of him wants to run to Arthur, to have him hold him tight like he had last night, to have him whisper apologies and reassurances into his hair. Another part screams that Arthur was lying, that Arthur has betrayed him and killed his kin and persecuted magic users, that he is no different from his father. Merlin doesn't know which part to believe. What is the truth? Who can he trust, if not himself?

The thoughts plague him throughout the day, feeding on his doubts. Arthur had said he hadn't sent the guards to kill him, but he'd still sent the guards. Why had they been there? To arrest him? Would Arthur have later had him executed? And were his promises to stop hunting sorcerers genuine? Can Arthur ever really accept magic?

There's only one way to really know, he supposes. He'll have to go back to Camelot. 

He tells himself that is the only reason he wants to go back, ignoring the tug in his chest and the way Gwen's words whisper through his mind, warm and inviting.

_Camelot is your home._

* * *

He teleports into Arthur's chambers, finding them dark and empty. He frowns at the layer of dust on the mantle, the unswept fireplace, the rumpled bed. Clearly, whoever Arthur has as his new manservant isn't doing a good job, and that's saying something considering what a terrible servant Merlin was. 

With a flash of his eyes the chamber is clean, a fire crackling merrily in the fireplace and the stray clothes put away. Merlin sits in Arthur's bed, legs crossed as he reads through a report that had been sitting on the desk. He munches on an apple as he reads, uncaring if any gets on the bed. After a fashion the door squeaks open, Arthur's footsteps trudging in. He makes it halfway across the room before he realizes he's not alone and freezes, hand going to the sword on his waist before he sees Merlin. He relaxes, exhaling in obvious relief, which Merlin thinks is a highly stupid thing to do considering he's in the presence of not only the most powerful sorcerer on earth but one who has just tried to kill him. 

"Merlin," Arthur breathes, taking a cautious step closer as if afraid of spooking him. "I thought you had left."

"I did." Merlin takes another bite of the apple, not taking his eyes off Arthur. 

"But you came back."

Merlin hates that Arthur's hopeful tone still affects him so much, making his heart pound and stomach flutter. He shrugs, trying to seem nonchalant.

"Maybe I'm here to kill you."

Arthur huffs a small laugh, moving closer. "I doubt that."

"What makes you so sure?" It's meant to be bitter but it comes out as a real question.

"If you really wanted me dead, Merlin, I already would be." Arthur leans on the bedpost and crosses his arms, firelight playing on his face. "Didn't we go over this already?"

Merlin scowls, hating that Arthur is right. He takes another bite of the apple in lieu of answering, trying to come up with a valid excuse for why he is here, of all places, sitting on Arthur's bed. The silence stretches, the air filling with tension. Merlin unfolds himself from the bed and gets up, stalking around it until he's standing in front of Arthur. He takes a last bite from his apple and throws it without looking, hearing it hit the floor and roll away. Arthur's lip twitches upwards, eyes glinting as he stares at Merlin. His gaze flicks down, and then up, and Merlin feels his breath hitch. He takes a step closer, so close their breaths mingle in the space between and he can feel the heat from Arthur's body, a shiver going through him. 

Arthur's eyes flick downwards again, and he licks his lips. Merlin follows the motion, something terrifying and intense clawing at his insides, a need borne of overwhelming emotions and inner turmoil that threatens to split him apart, until he is nothing more than shattered pieces. 

The tension thickens, crests, and then suddenly they are kissing, gasping into each other's mouths as they bite and shove and tear each other apart, hatred and love melding into insatiable need. 

Merlin pins Arthur against the bedpost, hands gripping his wrists.

"I could kill you right now," he gasps out.

"Sure, whatever you say," Arthur replies breathlessly, stealing Merlin's words in another kiss. A moment of weakness and Arthur wrenches his hands free, grabbing Merlin and slamming him against the bedpost. Merlin growls against Arthur's mouth, feeling his magic surge to the surface.

"I hate you," he hisses.

"Mmhmm." Arthur mouths at his neck, biting down as Merlin gasps. He clutches at Arthur, feeling a hand snake under his tunic and trail down. His own hand echoes the motion, tearing at Arthur's laces and yanking him closer. Arthur buries his face in Merlin's shoulder, both of them gasping and trembling as the heat between them grows, Merlin's magic thick in the air. The heat builds, coils in Merlin's stomach and then washes over him, his head thunking back against the bedpost and eyes gleaming gold. All the candles in the room burst into flame, and Arthur grunts and comes with his teeth in Merlin's neck, body slumping against his. They stay there for a moment, breathing heavily, before Arthur straightens up and takes a step back, grinning at Merlin. 

Merlin scowls back, cleaning them off with a flash of his eyes and redoing his laces in angry jerks.

"I still hate you," he hisses, before drawing his hood over his face and stalking from the room, fists clenched and heat burning in his cheeks.

* * *

 Merlin paces on the rough floor, Aithusa watching him with a steady gaze.

"The nerve! Does he think that just because-because of  _that,_ that I'm going to forgive him? That treacherous, insufferable, lying  _prat_ _!_ I should've killed him when I had the chance! Never again, Aithusa! That's it!" He throws up his hands. "I'm never going back, I'm never speaking to Arthur again."

Aithusa just stares at him, something like skepticism in her watery eyes.

"Don't look at me like that," Merlin snaps. 

Aithusa gives him a baleful look. Merlin feels a surge of rage, magic lashing out and shattering a pot.

"I  _hate_ him," he snarls. "Nothing's going to change that. So stop looking at me like that." He stomps away, throwing himself on the bed and curling into himself. His hand drifts to his neck, feeling the mark Arthur had sucked into the skin. It should bother him, but for some reason it makes something warm curl in his stomach. He pushes it away, huddling into a miserable ball and waiting for sleep to take him. Aithusa lays her head on the bed, chirping softly, eyes pleading for forgiveness. Merlin sighs, reaching out to stroke her head.

"I'm sorry I snapped," he says softly. "But I'm serious. I don't know what I'm doing, Aithusa. I don't know what Arthur is doing, either. And I can't-I can't trust him anymore, not after everything. I can't forgive him. I want to hate him, and yet..." He sighs. "I can't. And I don't know why. I should hate him. Why?" His voice breaks. He looks up into Aithusa's eyes, feeling tears slip down his cheeks.

"Why can't I hate him?" 

* * *

 He stays away a full week, shoving all thoughts of Camelot out of his mind. Then he hears of a sickness that's striking the people of Camelot, taking them quickly. He doesn't know who the new physician is, or care, but he knows whatever he does will not be enough to save everyone. 

He slips into the lower town at midnight, magic leading him to the houses of the sick. A whispered word in the darkness and the sickness lifts from their bodies, the afflicted settling into a peaceful sleep. He goes from house to house, pouring his magic out until every last person is free from sickness, his own life force drained and magic faltering. He stumbles blindly into the castle, moving without conscious thought as his vision blurs and exhaustion drags at his heels, every step an effort. He reaches a door and unlocks it with a muttered spell, staggering inside. 

There's the sound of a sword unsheathing and he flinches, swaying on the spot. Footsteps come closer, echoing strangely in his ears. He's not sure why he's not moving.

"Merlin?" It's Arthur's voice, and something unlocks within him. His strength gives out and he falls, knees slamming into the flagstones. Then there are gentle hands on his shoulders, keeping him upright, familiar blue eyes peering into his own.

"I'm here to kill you," Merlin mumbles, eyes fluttering closed as darkness threatens to overtake him.

He hears a snort. "Right." Strong arms wrap around him, lifting him as if he weighs nothing. He blinks heavily and finds himself on something soft, hands patting him over. 

"Merlin, what happened? Are you injured?"

"Sickness," he hears himself slur. "Healed them...all...tired..."

A sigh, and calloused fingers brush a strand of hair off his forehead, the touch excruciatingly gentle. "Of course you did," Arthur says fondly. Merlin feels a blanket being drawn over him, a weight settling at his side. 

"Sleep," he hears, Arthur's voice seeming a great distance away. "I'll be right here."

The last thing he feels before darkness swallows him up is Arthur's hand brushing over his cheek, a caress.


	7. Chapter 7

Arthur wakes first, blinking as soft rays of light filter through the curtains and send dust motes dancing in the air, a warm weight at his side. He turns to see Merlin lying on his side, body curved like a parenthesis towards Arthur and head resting nearly on his shoulder. One hand rests on Arthur's chest, rising and falling with every breath he takes. Merlin looks peaceful in sleep, the hard lines of his face borne from hatred and anger and pain softened and smoothed and his scar hidden in the mattress. His skin is too pale, the shadows under his eyes more like bruises, and there is something fragile in his sharp cheekbones, his long inky lashes, the way every breath puffs from between parted lips. He looks, at once, unutterably young. Vulnerable. A far cry from the terrifying figure he had cut, with his dark cloak and golden eyes, power rolling off him in waves. He looks...human.  

Arthur traces the lines of his face wistfully, knowing this peaceful respite can't last. Merlin will wake, and with him all the hatred and anger he feels towards Arthur. Merlin won't kill him, won't hurt him, but Arthur knows that doesn't mean he has forgiven him. At least not yet. But Merlin still seems drawn to Arthur as Arthur is to  him, and he hopes, prays that one day, Merlin will stay for good. Merlin is like a skittish colt right now, daring to come closer only to run away or lash out in self-preservation, but Arthur has experience with that. He knows how to coax a spooked animal towards him, how to play the game of push and pull. He's not stupid. He knows that if he pushes Merlin, or tries to make him stay before he's ready, that it will only destroy any progress they've made. No, what Arthur needs to do is make Merlin come to him.

It's progress, he thinks, that Merlin came to him when he was on the verge of collapse. It means that somewhere deep inside, Merlin trusts him. He needs to not break that trust if he's to succeed. He can start by following through on his promises. Already, he's starting reviewing the laws on magic with Gwen's help, but there's so much he doesn't understand. He needs someone- _someone like Merlin-_ to advise him, but that's a tall order. Any other sorcerers than Merlin would either hide in fear or volunteer only to try and kill him. The hatred and fear of magic runs deep, and the hardest task will be changing that rather than the laws.

This would be easier if everything was as it was before, if Merlin had never left and turned against him. Back then, he knew that not only would Merlin never betray him, but he wouldn't be afraid to challenge Arthur and speak his mind. No one else has ever given Arthur the level of support and wisdom and unflinching challenge that Merlin has, and that-combined with the fact that Merlin is apparently an extremely powerful sorcerer-makes him perfect for the job. But now? He can't even be certain that Merlin won't betray him, and the relationship they'd cherished is certainly gone. Plus, Merlin had destroyed Camelot and tried to kill him. That does nothing for helping people see that magic isn't evil. 

Arthur sighs, frustrated. Merlin stirs in his sleep, murmuring something inaudible; his brow creases and a frown tugs at his lips. Arthur reaches over, brushing his fingers over Merlin's forehead instinctively and sweeping away messy locks of ebony hair, Merlin's skin cool to the touch. Merlin shifts again and then sighs, face smoothing out again in sleep. The hand on Arthur's chest contracts slightly before falling limp again. Arthur's gaze falls on his wrist, where twisted scars peek out from Merlin's sleeve. Checking to make sure Merlin is asleep Arthur carefully pushes his sleeve up higher, examining the scars. 

He's seen enough prisoners and been captured enough to know the marks that manacles leave behind, but he's never seen scars like these. They wrap around Merlin's wrist in inflamed ridges, the width of them almost a handbreadth across. There's almost a pattern to them, as if the scars are layered on top of one another, and the whole area looks as if the skin has been rubbed raw only to heal. Scars like these could only happen from long-term imprisonment and lack of care-

Arthur's brain stutters to a halt.  _Oh._

Two years. Two years with not a hint of Merlin's presence, and then he re-appeared suddenly, intent on killing Arthur. Surely, if he was able, he would have acted long before. That means that he wasn't able, Arthur realizes. That he was imprisoned somewhere, subject to God-knows-what, for likely two years. 

The thought turns Arthur's stomach and makes a surge of protectiveness and anger rise up, his fists clenching. He'll kill them, whoever dared to hurt Merlin. Now Merlin's madness makes sense, the pain he'd glimpsed in his eyes. Something terrible had happened to him.

Arthur suddenly remembers the dragon, it's crippled form. What was it Gwen had said Merlin told her?  _She was captured._ Only, Arthur thinks with a sinking feeling, it wasn't just the dragon. It was Merlin as well. 

He skates trembling fingers across Merlin's brow again, feeling guilt well up. This is all his fault. If he hadn't sent those guards, Merlin would still be here, and none of this would have happened. Merlin would have been  _safe,_ and unscarred, and here in Arthur's arms every day. They would have been happy. 

His gaze drifts down to Merlin's lips, pink and inviting, and he feels the urge to kiss them. The memory of that night a week before springs to mind, unbidden, and he has to tamp down the flood of arousal that washes through him. He knows better than to think it will happen again, or that it meant anything to Merlin. He might love Merlin, but Merlin hates him. 

He hasn't told Gwen about it, even though she wouldn't care in the slightest. She's Queen in name and rule, but they had decided long ago that they weren't meant to be lovers. He knows that her heart still belongs to Lancelot, though he is dead, and she knows that his heart belongs to Merlin. He had, before everything went wrong, been intending to ask Merlin for permission to court him. But instead he had been left broken-hearted and betrayed, and Merlin hadn't been there to see Gwen take the throne. 

Gwen is hurting too, he knows. Merlin was-is-her friend, and she wants to help him as much as Arthur. He's told her everything else, but what happened between him and Merlin seems private, something only for them. He's still not sure why it had happened. Was it a slip on Merlin's part, a loss of control that revealed how much he really did care? Or was it the opposite, borne of hatred, a need to make Arthur powerless; a way to control him. He hopes it's the former. He has no idea whether Merlin will exploit this, use it against Arthur, or whether he will ignore it. Maybe Merlin really has turned against them, and he's manipulating them all right now. Maybe he's pretending to start to forgive Arthur to work his way back into the household and bring it down from the inside. But then, he could have killed Arthur before, had already had Camelot in ruins. There doesn't seem to be any use in deception. Arthur supposes only time will tell. For now, he'll give Merlin the benefit of the doubt, even though he knows his feelings for him make him weak. Where Merlin is concerned, Arthur is blind. 

Merlin shifts, breathing changing, and Arthur drops his hand. He feels the instant Merlin wakes, the way his body stiffens and the air seems to grow colder between them, Merlin's face hardening in the corner of Arthur's vision. Then Merlin pulls away abruptly and Arthur mourns the loss, the coldness where his body had been. He covers the emotion and sits up as well, watching as Merlin yawns and carefully avoids looking at him, tugging on the sleeves of his tunic. Neither of them speaks for a moment, awkwardness hanging in the air between them. 

There's a knock on the door and they both tense. 

"Breakfast," Arthur says. "You're welcome to join me." He slips out of bed, moving to open the door a crack so the servant doesn't see Merlin. He takes the breakfast tray, turning as he speaks.

"I can have more food brought up-"

He trails off, disappointment clutching at his chest. The room is empty.

* * *

He's getting food from the kitchens after a meeting when he finds a group of serving girls huddled in a circle, cooing over something. Intrigued, he walks nearer, stopping short at the scene before him.

In the middle of the circle, eyes closed and head tilted up in pleasure, is a cat. A very unique looking cat, with black fur and tufty ears and a scar over its left eye. A very unique scar. And when it opens it eyes, head tilted as a girl scratches its chin, its eyes are very, very blue. A very unique shade, Arthur would say. 

The cat freezes. The serving girls look up, blinking in surprise at Arthur.

"Your Majesty-"

Arthur smiles  in what he hopes is a reassuring manner, not breaking eye contact with the cat. "It's alright. What's going on here?"

"We found him hanging around," one pipes up. "Poor thing must be hungry. Cook said it was fine if he stayed, because he can eat the mice. He's just the sweetest thing."

"Is he now," Arthur says. The cat looks around for an escape route. "Well, as it turns out, he's actually mine." The cat's eyes dart to him and widen, and Arthur grins. "I have mice in my chambers, and this was the perfect solution. I hope you don't mind if I steal him back?"

"Of course, your Majesty." The serving girls look faintly crestfallen, and the cat horrified. Arthur bends down and picks him up, ignoring the way he stiffens and then slumps, as if accepting his fate.

"Come on," Arthur says sweetly. "Let's get you back where you belong."

As soon as he reaches his chambers the cat worms out of his grip, falling to the floor with an offended meow. Arthur closes the door and crosses his arms, staring down at him.

"Merlin. Care to tell me why you're a cat? And why you're letting serving girls  _pet_ you?"

Merlin hisses at him and then jumps on the bed, curling up and glaring at Arthur. Arthur throws his hands up, stomping over to his desk and throwing himself into the chair. He picks up a report and pretends to read, seething with inexplicable anger. So Merlin can get cozy with serving girls, huh? As a  _cat?_

It occurs to him, finally, that Merlin might be trying to gain information about Camelot by pretending to be a cat. Everyone knows servants have the best gossip, and all the inside information. Merlin can't show his real face, and a stranger would have to have an excuse for being in the kitchens, but a cat can go anywhere unnoticed. It's genius, really.

Arthur hates it.

Eventually he gives up pretending to read and throws the parchment down, looking up to where Melin is still curled on the bed, watching Arthur with unfathomable eyes. Arthur sighs, getting up and resettling on the bed next to Merlin's form. 

"You know, if you wanted to know about the kingdom all you had to do was ask," Arthur says, a trace of bitterness in his voice. Because he knows why Merlin didn't ask, and it comes down to the fact that he doesn't trust Arthur. 

"I'm legalizing magic," Arthur continues, not looking at Merlin. "I swear I am. But I have to go through the laws first, and I have to convince the people that it can be used for good. It's not as easy as it sounds, Merlin." He huffs a breath. "And I don't know anything about magic. No idea. I'm trying, but I don't even know where to start. All the books on magic were destroyed in the Great Purge, and there's no one to teach me. No sorcerer is going to come forward and offer to help."

He pinches the bridge of his nose, frustrated. It's easier to spill his worries to Merlin as a cat, somehow. Maybe it's the fact that he can't speak, or that the small- _adorable-_ fuzzy shape doesn't remind him of everything that's happened between them. 

"I want to learn," he says softly. "I want to learn everything about magic. I want to bring peace, and make sure no one who uses magic ever fears for their life again because of it. But I can't do it alone."

He lets that statement hang in the air, a silent question.  _Will you help me?_

There is no response. Then, something pushes against him, soft fur under his hand. Tentatively, he scratches, earning a rumbling purr. Arthur smiles.

"You really are  _just the sweetest thing,_ aren't you Merlin?"

Merlin bites him.

The next day, he finds a book on magic sitting on his desk.

* * *

Gwen pores over the book with him, seemingly fascinated by the intricacies of magic. Arthur has to admit, it's far beyond what he'd imagined. All he knows of magic is the evil his father spoke of, and the magic he's seen over the years, usually against him. He did not know that magic has rules, and balance, that magic is all around them, that it is the very fabric of the world. That some people are born being able to access this magic, that it is a part of them. Some may go through life never knowing they have the ability, while others, who are more powerful, find the magic leaking out and have to learn to control it. It is a craft, like any other, akin to being a swordsman or a blacksmith. It does not diminish the efforts of those who do not have magic, because magic takes years of hard study, with mental and physical challenges. The revelation astounds Arthur.

Most sorcerers can enchant objects, light fires, or move things, he learns. They can work spells into objects to do things like keep knives sharp, help food last longer, or keep boots from getting soaked all the way through. Sigils around their homes can help to ward away thieves. Small things that make their lives a bit easier, their businesses more successful, and life that much brighter. Furthermore, most specialize, with an area of magic they're best in. Healing, cooking, woodworking, and combat are the most common, with people imbuing their magic into their work. 

But,for most low-level sorcerers, it takes a heavy toll on their energy, draining their life-force if they use too much magic. They rely heavily on magical objects, potions, spells, crystals, and other physical conduits. They can only do a couple small spells at a time, and it takes concentration and practice to get it right. They need a lot of training to be considered much of anything, and their “power” stems from their depth of knowledge and their skill in practice, their  _wisdom_ , not their natural talents. Only those with extraordinary natural power and extensive training can do things like teleport, raise the dead, shape-shift, create shields, conjure fireballs, control minds, summon objects or creatures or people, and so on.

Uther was right, Arthur thinks, that magic is a choice, but only for some. For others, they have no choice. Their power manifests, usually around the time they come of age, and they cannot hide it unless they learn to control it. They don't have to worry about magical limitations as much, but without training their power is unpredictable and even dangerous. He thinks of Morgana, alone and afraid, struggling to hide the power that spilled from her naturally. He thinks of Merlin, who'd said  _I was born with it._ Merlin, who he rarely hears incanting an actual spell, who can summon lightning and raze an entire castle with a flash of his eyes. There is nothing in the book about that.

_Just how powerful is he?_ Arthur wonders. 

* * *

Merlin continues to infiltrate the castle as a cat, leaving Arthur in a state of constant exasperation. The serving girls love him, the cook slips him scraps of food, and even Gwen is besotted with him, but Merlin avoids Arthur. It irks him until one day he slips into Gwen's chambers to see Merlin curled on the rug, Gwen sitting beside him and prattling on about something as she pets him, a light he hasn't seen in years in her eyes. She's gotten her friend back, he realizes. Merlin is  _here,_ whatever form he's in. And maybe it's easier for Merlin, Arthur thinks. As a cat, no one expects him to speak. He doesn't have to answer questions, or explain. People love him without expectation, without judgement, without everything that comes along with the intricacies of human interaction. Yes, Arthur thinks, he understands completely. 

Arthur leaves before they notice him, unnameable emotion swelling in his chest.

* * *

A week after Arthur asked Merlin to help him, he wakes to find Merlin sitting at his desk, watching him. His feet are crossed on the desk, the picture of relaxed insouciance, but the tightness in his face belies an inner turmoil. Arthur sighs, flopping back onto the pillows. He doesn't even ask how Merlin got in. Merlin always just appears whenever he wants to, and Arthur is just grateful that he shows up at all. He never asks what Merlin does the rest of the time, or where he's staying, even though he burns with curiosity.

"What is it?" he grumbles.

Fabric hits his face, though a glance shows that Merlin hasn't moved. 

"Get dressed," Merlin replies shortly. 

Arthur rolls his eyes but obeys, pulling on the tunic and breeches along with the blue cloak Merlin had tossed at him. Merlin gets up, drawing his hood over his face and slipping out of his chambers. With a sigh, Arthur follows.

Merlin sticks to the shadows, evading the guards with what looks like practiced ease and beckoning Arthur after him. Arthur keeps his own hood up, understanding that Merlin doesn't want them to be seen. Wherever he's taking Arthur, it's a secret.

Eventually they leave the castle grounds and enter into the forest, their boots crunching softly over twigs and leaves. Arthur draws up next to Merlin, risking a glance over at him. 

"Where are we going?"

Merlin is silent for a moment before he seems to relent, huffing a breath. "Where I live."

Arthur nearly stops in his tracks, caught off guard by the admission. Something swoops in his gut, the realization that Merlin is  _trusting_ him with this. It's huge. 

"Why?" he finds himself asking. 

Merlin shrugs slightly, but his shoulders are tense. "You want to learn about magic, don't you?"

And Arthur understands. Merlin wants to teach him about magic, but not in Camelot. Somewhere where he has the high ground, where Arthur can't immediately have him arrested or killed. Somewhere where he's comfortable, and Arthur isn't.  

"I do," he replies. 

Merlin gives him an assessing look before continuing to walk, leading them deeper into the forest. Soon they come upon a small hut, hidden in a valley and tucked up under the hill. Arthur could swear he's been by this area before, and he's never seen the hut. He relays as much to Merlin, who simply grins crookedly and wiggles his fingers. Ah, magic, Arthur thinks. Handy.

The white dragon is outside, and she chirps when she sees Merlin. Merlin walks up to her confidently, stroking her scales before gesturing for Arthur to come closer. He does, swallowing down his fear and extending a hand for the dragon to sniff.

"Aithusa, this is Arthur," Merlin says. "Arthur, Aithusa."

Aithusa chirps and pushes her head into Arthur's hand. Her scales are surprisingly warm and smooth, and he exhales shakily as she purrs under his touch like a cat. She seems tame and friendly, compared to the Great Dragon that had almost destroyed Camelot. He hopes Merlin knows what he's doing, keeping a dragon. She's young, and will undoubtedly grow larger. What if she starts attacking people? There are no Dragonlords left, and he'd hate to have to kill Merlin's pet. 

"Merlin," he says slowly, still petting Aithusa. "Whatever possessed you to have a dragon as a pet?"

Merlin scowls. "She's not a pet."

"Right..." Arthur tries again. "But, I mean, a dragon? Merlin, surely you remember what the Great Dragon did. No matter how.... _cute_ she is, I can't let her harm my people."

Merlin stiffens. "She won't harm anyone."

"You don't know that. She's a dragon. It's what they  _do."_

"No, it isn't." Merlin glares at him. "The Great Dragon only attacked Camelot as vengeance for being imprisoned for twenty years. He was angry. He hasn't hurt anyone in years."

Arthur raises an eyebrow. "Years? Do you mean to tell me that the Great Dragon is still alive?"

Merlin shifts. "Erm, yes?"

"Merlin!" Arthur pinches his brow. "You told me I defeated it."

"Yup."

"But I obviously didn't."

"Nope."

"So what really happened?"

Merlin shifts again. "I commanded him to leave, and to never harm anyone again."

"You co-" Arthur stares. "You can command dragons?"

"Yes."

"You're a Dragonlord?"

"Yes."

"Then why did we go all the way to find that man-what was his name?"

"Balinor." something in Merlin's expression tightens.

"Yes, him. If you could stop it the whole time, why didn't you?"

"The gift is passed down from father to son," Merlin replies, voice flat. "When the father dies."

"But-oh." Arthur swallows, suddenly feeling guilty. "I'm sorry, Merlin. I didn't know."

He sees Merlin clench his teeth and then purposefully relax, shrugging. "It was a long time ago."

"Still." There's a beat of silence. "Well," Arthur says. "At least that solves the problem of Aithusa."

Merlin huffs what might have been a laugh. "First things first, I'm teaching you about dragons. You know nothing."

Arthur looks down at where Aithusa is pressed against his leg and looking up at him with wide blue eyes. "Well, I think she likes me better than you, so..."

"Oh, shut up." Merlin smiles at him, and for a moment it's like nothing has changed and they're still two young boys, innocent and untouched by suffering. Then the moment passes and Merlin's expression closes off, the distance between them unreachable. He turns away abruptly, leaving Arthur feeling hollow. 

"Come on," he says, and his voice is rough. "Let's go inside." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Info about magic comes from this amazing post by Merlin meta:  
>  [Merlin meta](http://paalme.tumblr.com/post/157749443329/merlinmeta-frankly-almost-all-of-the-most)


	8. Chapter 8

It's strange, inviting Arthur into his house. A month, even a week ago he would have shuddered at the thought; he wouldn't have trusted Arthur not to take advantage of the knowledge. But as the days have passed they've established a truce between them, even what might pass for a tentative friendship starting to form. And maybe it's better this way, Merlin thinks, starting their friendship over without lies or rank or expectation. Truer, perhaps. It's strangely freeing. 

Arthur ducks into the small space, looking around with an unreadable expression. Merlin suddenly feels nervous and unsure, regretting his decision. Maybe this wasn't a good idea. 

But then Arthur says, "Well, at least I know one thing hasn't changed-you're still terrible at cleaning-" and Merlin feels the tension drain away as he lets out a short laugh, perching on the small table.

"So," he starts awkwardly. "What do you want to know?"

Arthur pulls up a chair, eyeing Merlin and hesitating before replying. "I want to know about you."

"Me?" Merlin blinks, surprise turning to suspicion. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." Arthur waves a hand at him vaguely. "You said you were born with magic. Tell me about that. What it was like."

Merlin studies him, trying to figure out his motivation, but Arthur's face is unreadable again. Finally he sighs, fiddling with his cloak as he starts to talk. "Well, my mother said I was using magic hours after being born. I could...move objects, and that was about it. I used to float all my toys into my crib." Merlin gives a small smile.

"Without spells?" Arthur interrupts. "How did you do it?"

Merlin shrugs. "It just...happened." He glances at Arthur before making up his mind. "Like this." He stares at a bowl sitting on the table and makes it float, seeing Arthur's eyes widen. He waits for the fear, but Arthur only looks between him and the bowl in wonder before Merlin lets it fall back to the table. He clears his throat, ignoring the warm feeling in his chest.

"Anyway, my mother knew that if anyone found out, I'd be killed. So she...kept me inside. I wasn't allowed to play with the other children, in case something happened. When I got old enough to understand she told me I had to keep it a secret, that no one could find out. I'd learned to control it by then, but I still didn't fit in with the other children. They knew there was something different about me. Will was the only one who actually liked me." He feels a pang of loss gentled by the years. "He found out one day, but he was okay with it. But my mother was afraid that others would find out. It was such a small town, and I was already viewed with suspicion. Sooner or later something would happen and then I'd either be killed or exploited. So she sent me to Gaius, hoping that he could help me. And well, you know the rest."

"Actually, I don't," Arthur says, but he doesn't look angry, more contemplative. "So you didn't actually know any spells before coming to Camelot?"

Merlin shakes his head. "No. Just instinctive magic. By that time I'd figured out I could also slow time as well as move objects."

"Slow..time," Arthur repeats, with an edge of disbelief to his voice. "You could slow time just...naturally? Without any training?"

Merlin hunches his shoulders, shrugging. "Yeah."

"And even now, you don't seem to need spells to do things."

"No, I mean, I do, for a lot of things, but others just...it just happens."

"By magic." Arthur's tone is teasing.

Merlin rolls his eyes. "Obviously."

Arthur sobers, gaze piercing. "Merlin, just how powerful are you?"

Merlin shifts, ducking his head. He pulls at a thread on the edge of his cloak, fraying it as he delays answering. "I don't know," he says noncommittally. He shrugs. "I'm not-"

"Merlin." He looks up to see Arthur leveling him with a stern look. "Don't lie to me."

Merlin swallows, feeling trapped under Arthur's gaze. "Fine," he grits out. "I'm the most powerful sorcerer ever to walk the earth. There's apparently prophecies about me. The Druids have a name for me."

"Emrys," Arthur guesses.

Merlin nods. "It means-it means _immortal_."

Arthur stares. "You're immortal?'

Merlin flinches. "No-I don't know. It's not like I've ever died," he snaps. "I don't think," he mutters as an afterthought, thinking of poison and the Dorocha and the way he can't seem to die.

Arthur, of course, picks up on this. "The Dorocha," he says, and Merlin hates him for choosing now to be perceptive. "No mortal man ever survived their touch. And yet you did."

Merlin scowls. "That doesn't mean anything. Anyway, it's just a name. It probably doesn't mean literally. Druids are always cryptic."

"Mmhm." Arthur looks like he doesn't quite believe him but thankfully doesn't press. "So, you're the most powerful sorcerer ever. What the hell were you doing working as a servant?"

"It's not like I chose it," Merlin says, more harshly than intended. "I told you, I came to Camelot to see Gaius. And I had no idea about any of that, I only knew that I had magic. Then I met you."

Arthur smiles slightly, remembering. "I tried to take your head off with a mace."

"And I stopped you, using magic."

"You cheated." Arthur looks scandalized, but there's a glimmer of humor in his eyes.

Merlin huffs a laugh. "Not the first time. And I saved your life using magic."

"Why?" Arthur is studying him intently. "You had every reason to hate me. Why would you save my life?"

Merlin shrugs, feeling flayed open by Arthur's gaze. "I couldn't just let you die."

"But it wasn't the only time. You kept saving my life, even when you knew if I found out you'd probably be executed. Why?"

Merlin chooses his words carefully. "When I got to Camelot, I heard a voice calling me. It turned out to be the Great Dragon. He told me that it was my destiny to help you. That you were the Once and Future King and that one day, you would unite the land of Albion. I didn't believe him at first, but I started working for you and eventually, I started to believe it. And I found that you weren't just a prat." He meets Arthur's eyes. "You were kind, and honest, and brave. I could see the great king you would become."

"So that's why you did it, all these years? Because of some destiny a dragon told you?"

Merlin opens his mouth, the answer on the tip of his tongue.  _Yes._ But that's not true, he knows. For all that is broken between them, he can't bring himself to lie to Arthur again. "No," he finally says, voice rough. "No, not entirely."

Arthur is still studying him with that searching gaze, the one that makes Merlin feel as if all his secrets are laid bare. "Then why?" he asks softly.

Merlin clenches his jaw, looking away. "You know why." He stands up abruptly, turning away from Arthur and towards the door. "I'm going to check on Aithusa."

Outside he slumps against the wall, clenching his fists as his heart throbs with pain. It's only when he's sufficiently composed again that he ventures in the cabin again, trying to pretend nothing had happened. Arthur lets him, and the subject moves to safer waters, discussing magical theory, but Merlin catches Arthur looking at him every so often with that contemplative gaze, as if he's finally figured him out.

* * *

It's midmorning when Arthur finally leaves, having questioned Merlin about magic the entire time. Merlin had even shown him a few spells, astounded when Arthur had shown no fear or disgust. In fact, he'd asked why Merlin's eyes changed color when he did magic, and then called them  _beautiful._ Merlin hadn't known how to respond beyond stuttering and changing the subject, and it still preys on his mind. Arthur, thinking magic is beautiful. Arthur, who  _wants_ to learn about magic and legalize it. It's what he'd dreamed of as a young man, but what he'd long ago given up hope of happening. He doesn't understand, and it frustrates him.

He needs to talk to someone, he thinks, needs to order his swirling thoughts. But who? It's not like he has any friends anymore.

Except he does. He has Gwen, who he'd pushed away but who has still waited patiently for him, who has accepted his one-sided visits as a cat without judgement or anger. Who he knows will listen to him and tell him what he should do. He misses talking to her, he realizes. It's nice to visit her as a cat and to simply listen without having to speak, but he misses truly getting to talk to her. She was his first friend in Camelot, and has always been there for him. Even when he's hated Arthur, he could never hate her.

He waits until evening and then teleports into her empty room, stoking the fire and sitting on the furs in front of it with knees drawn up and chin resting on his crossed arms. Soon he hears her footsteps and the click of the door, an intake of breath telling him she's seen him. He doesn't turn, staring into the flames as he hears her walk over carefully, sinking to the floor next to him and laying a tentative hand on his arm. 

The silence stretches for a minute, Gwen waiting for him to make the first move. Finally Merlin breaks the silence, voice quiet and hoarse.

"I'm sorry."

"What for?" Gwen's voice is equally hushed, but layered with gentleness.

He shrugs slightly. "Everything." For lying to her for years, for attacking Camelot, for pushing her away, for breaking her heart. For becoming like Morgana.

Gwen seems to hear everything he's left unsaid, and her hand tightens on his arm. Her other hand reaches out and gentle fingers grip Merlin's chin, turning his head to face her. She meets his eyes, and he sees nothing but warmth and understanding in their depths.

"I forgive you," she says softly. "And I'm sorry too."

He moves, or maybe she moves, but all of a sudden they are hugging, clutching each other tight as if nothing else matters except for them. Merlin feels Gwen's tears dampen his cloak and realizes he's crying as well, face tucked into Gwen's shoulder and her curls brushing his cheek. 

He doesn't know how long they stay that way but eventually they pull apart, wiping their eyes and drawing deep breaths. They resettle next to each other on the furs, knees almost touching and bodies angled towards each other. Gwen waits patiently, and Merlin begins to talk as the room darkens and the moon rises outside, their voices hushed in the quiet room. He talks and everything comes spilling out-his magic, the years of lies, Morgana, Arthur-and Gwen listens, no judgement in her eyes even at his darkest sins. The only thing he doesn't talk about is the two years between when he left and now, but Gwen doesn't press. In turn she shares her fears, her hopes, her heartbreak at Morgana and him and everything that's happened since he's been gone. 

The night deepens and Merlin finds himself growing sleepy, the turmoil of emotions leaving him drained and wrung-out. Gwen pats his hand and stands up, stifling a yawn.

"It's late."

Merlin nods, getting to his feet as well. "I'll go." He starts towards the door.

"You know you're welcome here anytime, Merlin," Gwen calls after him quietly.

He pauses, turning. "Thank you. And thank you for..."

She nods, understanding. "Goodnight, Merlin."

"Goodnight."

He ducks out of her room, closing the door and pulling his hood up. He should teleport back, he knows, but he finds his feet moving without his permission, taking him through the familiar halls. He opens the door to Arthur's chambers and slips inside, closing it softly behind him before creeping forward on silent feet. Arthur is asleep, blonde hair spilling over the pillow and face slack, a bream of moonlight bathing it in a soft glow. Merlin hesitates next to the bed, not sure what he's doing here.

"Merlin." He starts, looking down to see Arthur awake and peering up at him with sleep-lidded eyes. "What are you doing?"

"I'm here to kill you," he says, glad the darkness hides his blush.

"Well, get on with it then, or get in bed. You're disrupting my sleep." Arthur scoots over, leaving a space on the mattress and holding up the covers. Merlin hesitates a second before sighing and sliding in, cursing himself. What the hell is he doing?

Arthur lets the covers fall and rolls over, dropping off to sleep immediately. He's too trusting, Merlin thinks. What if he really was there to kill him? Although, he muses, there wouldn't really be anything Arthur could do about it anyway. 

With that thought he turns into the mattress and falls asleep, Arthur a warm presence at his back.


	9. Chapter 9

When Arthur wakes, the bed is empty, and for a moment he thinks he dreamed Merlin's presence before he sees the rumpled impression in the mattress and reaches out a hand to feel warmth still emanating from it. A small smile curves his lips.  _Progress,_ he thinks. It's progress.

He thinks back to yesterday morning, when Merlin had taken Arthur to his home and they'd talked about magic for hours, the space between them shrinking. He thinks of how Merlin had told him about his childhood, about having magic, about being the  _most powerful sorcerer ever to walk the earth._

Good God, Arthur had known Merlin was powerful, but to hear it....

And a dragonlord. And maybe, possibly,  _immortal._ The thought is too shocking to even contemplate. 

But more important than that-Merlin had opened up, had trusted him. And Arthur will make sure that he honors that trust. He'll never hurt Merlin again.

He dresses and heads to Council, where Gwen is positively beaming. 

"You look happy," he notes, sliding into the seat next to her.

Gwen's smile grows. "I am." She leans closer to whisper in his ear. "Merlin visited me last night. We talked."

Arthur feels a rush of relief. _Finally_. He squeezes her hand on the table. "I'm glad."

Her mouth curves into a smirk. "I told you so," she murmurs. 

Arthur sighs. "Yes. Yes you did."

* * *

He goes back to Merlin's home that night, and Merlin teaches him more about magic and shows him spells that take Arthur's breath away, including some that he's used throughout the years to help Arthur. He hadn't realized just how beautiful magic could be, especially if it was Merlin doing it. It makes heat curl in his gut, and he has to look away lest Merlin read the truth in Arthur's eyes. He'd slipped up enough when he told Merlin his eyes were beautiful. What they have right now, the tentative friendship they've built, is too important, and Arthur doesn't want to ruin it by baring his feelings to Merlin. It would be too much, too soon, and it would push Merlin away. Merlin still seems to hate him, and Arthur doesn't presume to think his love is in any way returned. Merlin tolerates him, nothing more. 

They fall into a routine for the next few days, Arthur making his way to Merlin's home every evening to learn more about magic and even start discussing the laws, the house now visible to him even without Merlin. It's more complicated than he thought, Arthur realizes. It's hard to regulate magic when there are so many complexities, so many nuances that can't be accounted for. Spells that can be used for good as well as evil, charms that are unfair to other craftsmen, love spells, runes; nothing is simple. He relies on Merlin's advice on how to handle them, which he's reluctant to give at first but after some coaxing begins to offer unprompted. Arthur smiles inwardly, thinking that Merlin will make a great Court Sorcerer, if only he can get him (and the people) to accept the title.

But he knows he won't ask Merlin yet, not until things are better between them. For every step he takes forwards, it seems he takes three steps back. As soon as Merlin shows any vulnerability, any regard, he immediately shuts Arthur out. It feels like pulling teeth some days, getting Merlin to talk to him. But it's progress, he keeps reminding himself. Progress. Even Aithusa has warmed to him, though the dragon still makes him nervous.

At the end of the week Arthur has to forego magic lessons in favor of welcoming the delegation from Amata. He hopes to sign a peace treaty between them and further his goal of uniting Albion, though he has no love for the kingdom's leader-the Sarrum. Arthur has heard of his ruthlessness and cruelty, and knows he has a hatred for sorcery akin to that of Uther. 

He tells this to Merlin, wanting not only to be honest but to warn him away from the castle. He doesn't want the Sarrum within a mile of Merlin, in case he tries something. There's no telling what the man will do.

Merlin stiffens at the news, face going blank and pale. Arthur supposes he's heard of the Sarrum, and that he's angry with Arthur for negotiating with him.

"I'm sorry," he tries. "I have no love for the man or his practices, but this treaty is important. Once all of Albion is united, maybe then I can change things."

Merlin turns his back to Arthur, and Arthur can't tell what he's feeling except for the taught line of his back. 

"I think you should go," Merlin finally says, voice strained. 

"Merlin-"

"Go." Merlin's voice brooks no argument. 

Arthur sighs and leaves, feeling like he's just set them back again. They were doing so well, talking openly, and Merlin had seemed to soften towards him, but now it'll probably be another week before he'll even speak to Arthur. He has no choice, though. Merlin may not understand, but he's doing what's best for the kingdom. He'll just have to live with that.

* * *

 The Sarrum's arrival passes without incident, and Arthur hopes that they can get through this treaty as quickly and peacefully as possible. The first night, the Sarrum and his men dine with them, and Arthur takes the chance to get to know the man and his policies a bit better.

"I've heard you share my father's hatred for sorcery," Arthur comments.

The Sarrum grunts, shooting him a look. "I take it you don't?"

Arthur weighs his words. "I believe that not all use it for ill," he responds diplomatically. "I feel that persecuting its users only creates more enemies."

The Sarrum gives a crooked grin. "Sorcerers are nothing to be feared. Even the greatest among them can be brought down." He takes a drink from his cup. "There was one such sorcerer, a few years ago. Rumored to be the most powerful among them, thought of as a God. He went by the name _Emrys_."

Arthur feels his blood run cold, and Gwen stiffens out of the corner of his eye.

"The _power_ ," The Sarrum continues. "It was like nothing I've seen before. He took out fifty of my men before we managed to capture him." He leans closer, as if imparting a secret. "We found his weakness, you see. Everyone has one, even powerful sorcerers." He smacks his lips. "A young dragon. His love for that creature caused him to suffer more than he ever imagined possible. But not more than he deserved." He pauses for effect, Arthur still frozen in his seat. "He didn't dare to use his magic against us while his beloved creature was at risk at harm. By the time he tried to fight back, it was too late. Spelled manacles kept him from using his magic, though he tried. His screams were something to behold."

The Sarrum looks away wistfully. "Such a shame. All that power, all that strength, abandoned and forgotten in a living grave."

Arthur feels sick, frozen in his seat with horror and shock. He'd guessed that Merlin had been captured, but this....

"You're a harsh judge, Lord Sarrum," he finally chokes out.

"When it comes to sorcery, we must be merciless." The Sarrum sighs. "I was not merciless enough. Emrys escaped. A lapse on my part. I'll not be so foolish again." A smile curves his lips. "Not that his time with me was entirely wasted. As the dragon grew, the pit became too small. Gradually the creature was crippled and twisted. At night, you could hear its cries. They were even more heartbreaking that Emrys'."

Gwen stands suddenly. "I hope the Sarrum will forgive me if I retire for the night." The Sarrum shakes his head and she sweeps away, leaving Arthur alone with his thoughts. The nausea grows, a sickening pit in his stomach, and he wants more than anything to follow Gwen, to get away from the man who had captured and tortured Merlin, but he can't. He has a duty to stay. He spends the rest of the meal in relative silence, barely mustering up the right responses to the Sarrum's conversation. He feels numb, but at the same time a fire burns in his chest and he pictures driving his sword through the Sarrum's heart, making him suffer as Merlin suffered.

By the time the banquet ends he's cut grooves into his palms from clenching his fists so hard. He bids the Sarrum good night and immediately grabs his blue cloak, sneaking out of the castle and cutting a quick path to Merlin's home. He pushes open the door without bothering to knock, startling Merlin, who's sitting on his bed. He blinks at Arthur in surprise before something shutters in his expression and his eyes go blank and cold, burning with rage.

"You know," he says flatly.

"I'm so-"

"Get out." Merlin stands, lips curled in a snarl.

"Merlin-"

"Get out!" Merlin screams, eyes turning to flame. Pots shatter, sending shards whistling past, and the hair on Arthur's arms rises, magic crackling in the air. 

Arthur backs away, heart breaking. The house shakes. Golden eyes finds his, filled with pain and anger and a hatred so deep it takes Arthur's breath away. 

He turns and flees.

Thunder rumbles overhead and rain starts to fall as he stumbles through the woods, Merlin's eyes burned into his memory. He's soon soaked through, rivulets of water streaming down his face and boots squelching with every step, a pain beating beneath his breastbone. He slows to a halt, turning his face up to the rain.

Merlin. Merlin is back there, suffering, alone. Just as he had been before. And Arthur had left him. After he'd sworn to never hurt Merlin again.

All of a sudden he's moving, turning, boots slapping against the wet earth as he runs. He wrenches open the door to the hovel and ducks inside, gaze landing on the figure curled on the bed and Aithusa lying on the floor beside him. He runs to him, collapsing to his knees by the other side of the bed as Merlin sits up, confusion and anger warring on his face.

"I told you to leave," he says tiredly.

Arthur reaches up, cupping Merlin's face in his hands and forcing him to meet his eyes. 

"I'm not leaving you," he says. "Not now, not ever."

Merlin's eyes search his, brow furrowing, and then he surges forwards to press his lips against Arthur's. Arthur gasps in shock before kissing back, hands cradling Merlin's face and mouth parting to let Merlin in. The kiss turns heated, Merlin's fingers tangling in his hair before creeping down to pluck at Arthur's sodden cloak.

"Off," he breathes.

Arthur knows this is a bad idea, knows Merlin is probably just emotional and lonely, but he can't bring himself to stop. His cloak drops to the floor and he breaks the kiss so that Merlin can peel him out of his wet shirt before reconnecting their mouths, desperation growing and making their movements frantic. Merlin growls something in an unfamiliar language that makes Arthur's breath catch and Aithusa leaves, the door swinging shut behind her.

Finally, they divest their clothes and Merlin tugs him down onto the bed, Arthur settling between his legs. In the glimmer of candlelight he makes out silver scars adorning Merlin's torso, but before he can examine them Merlin steals his breath in a searing kiss, rocking his hips, and all other thoughts flee from his mind as the heat curling in his stomach builds. Arthur reaches between them, drawing them together, and Merlin arches beneath him like a cat, fingers digging into Arthur's back. Arthur presses kisses to the pale expanse of Merlin's throat, slowing down and then speeding up again. He pulls back as Merlin goes taught like a bowstring, watching as his eyes flash gold and the light in the room jumps, candle flaring higher. It's breathtaking. Arthur's release crashes over him a moment later and he slumps over Merlin, both of them panting heavily.

Arthur looks down at Merlin, catching him looking back with a strange vulnerability before his eyes harden again and he pushes Arthur off, swinging his legs to sit on the edge of the bed with back to Arthur. Scars shine on his back, stark against the pale skin. Arthur props himself up, reaching out a tentative hand to touch Merlin's shoulder and Merlin flinches, hands fisting in the mattress.

"You should go," he says tonelessly. 

Arthur swallows. "Merlin-"

"You'll be missed," Merlin continues, as if Arthur hadn't spoken. "You should get back to Camelot before they get worried."

"I'm not leaving you."

"Arthur-" Merlin's voice cracks. "Please."

Arthur hesitates, but Merlin's voice is broken and pleading, and he knows he's right-he has to get back to Camelot before he's missed. He takes a deep breath, risking setting his hand on Merlin's shoulder again. Merlin doesn't flinch.

"I'll be back," Arthur promises. "I won't leave you. And I'll deal with the Sarrum, somehow, I'll-" He falters. "He'll never hurt you again, I swear to you."

Merlin is silent, back tense under Arthur's hand, skin still warm and flushed from exertion. Arthur finds his clothes, starting to pull the wet fabric over his legs when he feels the tingle of magic and the fabric is suddenly dry. 

Arthur clears his throat. "Thanks."

Merlin doesn't move from his position on the bed, head ducked and hands still gripping the edge. Arthur gathers the last of his things and heads for the door, pausing only once to glance back at Merlin's still form. Then he leaves the same way he came, trudging through the darkening forest as the last of the raindrops drip from the trees.

* * *

 The next morning finds him on the training grounds, squaring off against one of the Sarrum's warriors. He throws all his anger and hatred into the fight, every blow landed only making the rage burn hotter. His opponent goes down, and Arthur feels a surge of vicious satisfaction. 

The day is spent mostly in council drafting up a treaty, and Arthur tries to put thoughts of Merlin out of his mind. He may hate the Sarrum, but he can't very well attack him without causing all-out war and surely losing many of his own men in the process. Besides, this treaty is necessary. But he knows he must do something, or the Sarrum will continue his reign of terror. The problem circles around his mind all day, giving him a headache to accompany the constant throb of pain in his heart.

Gwen finds him in the evening, slipping into his chambers and immediately launching herself into his arms.

"I can't bear it," she says, voice breaking. "What he did to Merlin..."

"I know." Arthur holds her close, cheek resting on her soft curls. 

"Have you talked to him?" Gwen's voice is muffled by his shirt, and Arthur feels wetness seeping through the fabric from her tears.

"I tried."

"What are you going to do about the Sarrum?"

"What can I do?" Arthur sighs, feeling a pang of guilt. "We need this treaty."

"I know." Gwen takes a deep breath, pulling away slightly. "But he's our friend, Arthur. We have to help him."

"He doesn't want my help." Arthur's voice comes out more hurt than intended and he turns away to hide the play of emotions on his face.

"Of course he does," Gwen says softly. "He just doesn't know it." She places a hand on Arthur's arm. "Give him time."

"How much time?" Arthur asks, frustrated. "Every time I think I've gotten somewhere, I'm proven wrong. He'll never stop hating me, Guinevere, not after this."

There's something sad in Gwen's eyes, almost pitying. "If you think Merlin hates you, you're only fooling yourself."

"What?"

Gwen just shakes her head. "Give it time. And as for the Sarrum...I think I have an idea."

* * *

 Arthur signs the treaty with a flourish, passing the quill to the Sarrum. After a moment's hesitation, the Sarrum signs as well, looking deeply disgruntled. The treaty is stamped and rolled, and Arthur clasps the Sarrum's arm.

"It's been a pleasure," he lies through his teeth.  

The Sarrum grunts, no doing as much to hide his displeasure as Arthur. They break apart and the Sarrum collects his men, making preparations to leave. Arthur finds Gwen's hand slipping into his and squeezing.

"I'm proud of you," she says. 

He squeezes her hand back. "It was your idea."

"Still. You made it happen. So many lives will be saved because of your actions."

"And yet so many were lost before I realized."

"You can't change the past." Gwen's eyes are steady and filled with wisdom. "But the future you're making is the one I've always dreamed of, and I am proud to stand by your side. And I'm not the only one."

"I appreciate that, Guinevere." 

"When will you tell him?"

"Who?"

Gwen raises an eyebrow. "I know you've been sneaking off every night to see him."

Arthur huffs a laugh. "I can't keep anything from you, can I?"

"Afraid not."

Arthur pats her hand. "Tonight. I'll tell him."

Gwen nods. "Good."

* * *

The sun is slipping beneath the horizon as Arthur approaches the hovel, greeting Aithusa with a head rub and knocking on the door. After a minute it creaks open, revealing Merlin, who regards him with suspicion.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to apologize," Arthur says. "And to tell you something."

"Apologize for what?"

Arthur flounders. "For..." He waves a hand, unsure what exactly he's apologizing for.

Merlin's eyebrow creeps up his forehead. "Right...?"

"Right." Arthur clears his throat. "Can I come in?"

After a moment's hesitation Merlin opens the door wider, gesturing him in. Arthur takes his customary seat at the table, suddenly wracked with nerves and second-guessing his decision. 

"Well?" Merlin demands. "Spit it out."

"The Sarrum is gone," Arthur starts. Merlin's face hardens and he rushes to continue. "But we signed a treaty."

"Yes, that is generally how these things go." Merlin says sardonically.

"For once in your life just...listen." Merlin's mouth clamps shut and Arthur takes a breath. "In exchange for a substantial piece of Camelot's land, the Sarrum has agreed to give all sorcerers in his kingdom safe passage to Camelot. Unless they have committed a crime unrelated to magic, they will be allowed to take refuge here without consequence. I will personally ensure their safe passage, and make sure that they feel welcomed within our borders. I want to create a community of people with magic so that they can help each other and share resources, and I want to seek advice from them."

Merlin stares at him, mouth slightly agape and eyes widened in surprise. "You would...do that?" he whispers. 

"Of course." Arthur takes a step closer. "I gave you my word that magic would no longer be persecuted but respected, and that it's peoples would be safe. I intend to keep it."

Merlin's eyes brim with tears and then he is launching forwards, arms wrapping around Arthur and knocking the breath from him. Arthur hugs back, relief coursing through him and making his own eyes burn, Merlin a warm weight in his arms.

Merlin pulls back just enough to see him, their faces inches apart. His eyes find Arthur's, wide and vulnerable, no hatred in their depths. When he leans forward and presses his lips to Arthur's it's soft, sweet; the barest brushing of lips that sends sparks dancing through Arthur's nerves.

"Thank you," Merlin whispers.

Arthur shakes his head. "No, Merlin. Thank you."

Merlin leans forward again, capturing his lips in a gentle kiss that gradually deepens, a slow heat kindling in Arthur's gut. He breaks it to trail kisses along Merlin's jaw and down the pale column of his throat, hands slipping under his tunic. Merlin stumbles backwards, pulling Arthur with him until they reach the bed; Merlin falls backwards as Arthur settles between his legs, lips finding Merlin's neck again and sucking a bruise into the pale skin. Merlin gasps, arching under him. Arthur travels lower, laving over a prominent collarbone and tugging at Merlin's tunic until he wrestles it over his head. Merlin watches with hooded eyes as Arthur traces every line of his chest, kissing over scars he doesn't know the story behind and some he does. He grasps one of Merlin's wrists gently, pressing kisses to the ring of scars around it as Merlin turns his head away, eyes squeezed shut.

"It's alright," Arthur murmurs. He reaches up, turning Merlin's face towards him. Merlin cracks open his eyes, something shattered and vulnerable in his gaze, and Arthur holds eye contact as he presses another kiss to the inside of Merlin's wrist before moving to the other one and repeating the motion. Merlin tangles a hand in Arthur's hair and tugs, drawing him into a kiss that makes the embers inside Arthur's core stir into flame. He gets his own tunic off before tugging Merlin's breeches down, throwing them somewhere in the room. His kisses trail down Merlin's stomach, lower and lower, rounding his thigh and dipping down into the inside. Merlin trembles beneath him, hands fisted in the sheets and breaths loud in the silence of the room.

When Arthur's mouth closes over him there's a prickle of magic and the crash of something falling to the floor, making Arthur chuckle. 

"Shut up," Merlin mutters, trying to arch up as Arthur's hand on his hip keeps him pinned. Arthur complies, focusing back on his ministrations as Merlin pants and writhes beneath him. Finally Merlin reaches out, fingers scraping Arthur's scalp as he tugs on his hair to pull his head up.

"You," he breathes. "Want...you."

Arthur stills, looking up at Merlin. "Are you sure?"

Merlin nods, eyes flashing gold, and something flies into his hand. It's a vial of oil. "I'm sure," Merlin pants. "Just...get on with it."

Arthur grins, grabbing the bottle. "Yes,  _Merlin."_

Merlin mutters something that sounds like  _bloody prat, cabbage head, complete-_

He cuts off abruptly, head falling back into the mattress, and Arthur grins, bracing a hand on Merlin's thigh as he continues to work him open. Soon Merlin is shaking and panting, more items in the hovel smashing to the floor. Arthur divests himself of his own breeches and crawls over Merlin, letting himself be pulled down for a heated kiss. Merlin's legs wrap around him, heels nudging impatiently, and Merlin gasps into Arthur's mouth as he presses in. Arthur swallows Merlin's sigh, mouths melding together and kisses becoming languid as the heat between them simmers and grows. 

It's nothing like the last few times, the frantic, desperate fumbling and careless pleasure; it is slow, exquisite, sensual, and Arthur will admit he's enough of a girl to call it  _making love._ Merlin is beautiful beneath him, pale skin and dark hair and those eyes, blue as the deepest lake, fixed on Arthur with something soft and open that makes Arthur's heart beat faster. He trails kisses down Merlin's neck, watches his eyelashes flutter like moth's wings and blue eyes glint with gold; he intertwines his fingers with Merlin's and never wants to let go. 

Merlin comes with a breathless gasp, eyes turning to flame. Arthur  _feels_ the magic, feels it wrap around him in warm tingles that feel so familiar he doesn't know how he could have missed it. _Merlin is magic_. He has always been magic. He can almost see it, golden strands winding around his body and sweeping soothing tendrils over his skin. It feels like Merlin. It feels like safety. It feels like  _home._

Merlin is magic, and Arthur is his.

His own climax sweeps over him, the gold in his mind's eye brightening. He stares down at Merlin, seeing golden eyes stare back at him, the small swirls and eddies in his irises captivating Arthur.

"I love you," Arthur whispers.

A moment later he tenses, realizing what he's said. Heartbreak crashes down on him and he goes to move, to leave, but Merlin's hand on his arm stops him.

"Arthur, I-"

"It's okay," Arthur says, willing his voice to stay even. "I know you still hate me."

Merlin chuffs, and his hand moves to cradle Arthur's face, eyes wet and brimming with emotion. "As if I could ever hate you," he whispers. "Gods, Arthur, I-I  _love_ you, I've always loved you-"

Arthur cuts him off with a kiss.


	10. Chapter 10

Arthur lies propped on his side, one hand tracing the long scar on Merlin's stomach. It makes him shiver slightly, the sensation strange and prickling, but he keeps his eyes trained on the ceiling as Arthur's fingers brush over the uneven skin.

"So Aithusa healed you?" Arthur asks.

"Yes. She found me in the woods, after...after I fled Camelot."

"I'm sorry. I never meant for that to happen." Arthur's hand finds his cheek, tracing the scar there briefly before dropping his hand.

Merlin glances at Arthur, reading the honesty in his face. "I know," he sighs. 

"I only wanted to talk. If I had known that the guards would react that way..." Arthur shakes his head, guilt glimmering in his eyes.

"What did you want to talk about?" Merlin asks, suddenly curious.

Arthur lifts a shoulder in a shrug. "I'm not sure. I just...wanted to talk. An explanation maybe. But I wouldn't have had you executed, or even banished."

A week ago Merlin wouldn't have believed it, but something tells him Arthur is telling the truth. He  _trusts_ him, he realizes suddenly. All his anger and hatred for Arthur has melted away, as if it was never there in the first place. The wall he's built between them has crumbled, and it's simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating, to open himself up to Arthur and trust that Arthur won't hurt him again. But it's not that he worries about, now. He worries that he will hurt Arthur, because the anger and hatred may not be aimed at him anymore, but it's still there, festering inside him like an infected wound, swallowing his soul with pain and darkness. Arthur is honest and kind and truehearted, despite his flaws, and Merlin is none of those, not anymore. Or maybe he never was. 

He grabs Arthur's hand, interlacing their fingers.

"I know," he says. "And I-" He swallows. "I forgive you."

Arthur lifts their joined hands, fingers trailing down to dance over his scarred wrist. Merlin has told Arthur the story of each one of his scars, except these, and the thought makes dread curl in his gut. He looks away, biting his lip.

"And these?" Arthur questions softly.

"You already know," Merlin replies tightly. He doesn't know what the Sarrum told Arthur, but he knows by Arthur's pain-filled glances that it was enough.

Arthur presses a kiss to his wrist. "How long?"

Merlin is silent for a moment, staring up at the ceiling. "Two years."

Arthur is silent, and Merlin can guess at the thoughts that are going through his head, the anger towards the Sarrum. He turns to look at him, fixing him with a stare.

"You did what was right. I never expected you to do anything for me."

"I would do anything for you, you should know that by now." Arthur's sincerity  _hurts,_ hurts worse than the fact that he loves him.

"You shouldn't." Merlin swallows, turning to face the ceiling again as shame claws at his insides. "I'm not a good person. I've done things...."

"I don't care." 

"You should."

"I don't." Arthur squeezes Merlin's hand. "Whatever you've done, I don't care. You're here, and that's all that matters."

Merlin chooses not to respond. He knows that Arthur loves him, but Arthur loves an idealized version of Merlin that had died years ago. Worse, it had never existed. Arthur doesn't actually know him. If he did, Merlin knows that he wouldn't love what he saw. It would be impossible. Merlin had let the darkness in, and the darkness had consumed him. There is nothing left. 

He clears his throat, pulling his wrist away from Arthur and sitting up.

"We should eat breakfast."

Something sad flashes in Arthur's gaze but he nods, levering himself up as well. They find their clothes and get dressed as Merlin heats up water for tea and starts on the porridge. Arthur ducks outside, returning a few minutes later with Aithusa in tow. It secretly warms Merlin's heart to see Arthur and Aithusa getting on so well, especially with Arthur's previous experience with dragons and Aithusa's previous experience with humans. 

They sit at the table to eat, Aithusa curling up next to Merlin's chair and Arthur taking the seat across from him. Arthur doesn't complain about the porridge, though he's certainly used to better fare, and a silence falls over the house.

It's Arthur who breaks it first, fiddling with his spoon as he glances up at Merlin.

"I'm going to present the new laws on magic to the council soon."

Merlin nods, taking a sip of tea. "That's good."

"You know, I would need a magical advisor, someone to handle all the affairs and act as a representative-"

"No." Merlin shakes his head. "I know what you're going to ask, and the answer's no."

Arthur leans forward. "Merlin, there's no one else I trust to do this."

Merlin feels a spark of anger mingled with shame. "You shouldn't," he spits back. "You shouldn't trust me. I tried to kill you, I destroyed Camelot. Maybe-maybe I'm still trying to destroy it, maybe I've been lying to you this whole time!"

Arthur just raises an unimpressed eyebrow. "Right. Even if I believed that, it would make no difference. I'm trying to do right by magic, you'd only be hurting your cause by trying to undermine me. I trust you to make the right decisions, even if they aren't what I want. You're not scared to question me."

Merlin scowls. "The people won't trust me."

"They will." At Merlin's disbelieving look, Arthur throws up his hands. "Okay, maybe right now they don't trust you, but that can change. You can show them that magic can be used for good."

"For good? Like destroying Camelot, attempting to kill you? You think anyone will see that as  _good_?"

"You rebuilt Camelot, and you didn't kill me. You've been protecting Camelot for years. The people will see that."

Merlin shakes his head, something painful in his throat. "I know the hatred and suspicion with which men view those with magic. I've experienced it firsthand. They will never accept me. They'll say you've been enchanted, or worse. They'll turn on you too."

"I am their King, and my word is law. Things will change, attitudes will change. Just give it time."

Merlin is silent for a moment, turning it over in his mind. No matter what Arthur says, he can't see it ending well. He is a monster. He will only drag Arthur into the darkness with him, and he can't let that happen. 

"I'm sorry," he says. "But I can't do it. You'll have to find someone else."

Arthur just nods, like he expected that answer. "Think about it. There's something else I wanted to ask."

"What is it?"

Arthur reaches across the table to grasp his hand. "I'd like for you to come back."

"Come back...to Camelot?"

Arthur nods. "Stay with me. I promise, no harm will come to you there. Consider yourself officially pardoned."

Merlin worries his lip. "What about Aithusa?"

"The chambers next to mine are empty, and they're big enough to house her. She'd be free to come and go, and I'd make sure she was protected."

"But...everyone knows what I did, what I am. I wouldn't be welcome."

Arthur squeezes his hand. "You don't have to see anyone if you don't want to, but you'll be under my protection. Anyone with a problem with you will have to answer to me." He grins crookedly. "Besides, you're there half the time anyway. Just turn into a cat or something."

Merlin exhales, still worrying his lip as he thinks. It's a big step, but Arthur's right, he's there all the time anyway. Though the thought of people knowing he is there...it's too risky. 

"I'll go," he says, "on one condition."

Arthur nods eagerly. "Anything."

"No one knows I'm there."

Arthur searches his eyes. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. I don't want anyone knowing where I am. I stay with you, but it's kept quiet. If I go out, I'm in disguise."

Arthur appears to think and then nods. "Alright. No one will know you're there except me, and Gwen I assume."

Merlin nods, then exhales, feeling off balance. "Well," he says, trying for a wobbly smile. "Looks like I'm going back to Camelot."

* * *

Merlin doesn't bring anything with him except the few clothes he owns and his ratty cloak, all of it fitting into a single rucksack that he swings over his shoulder. He waits for nightfall to slip into the castle, calling Aithusa to him once he's at the highest tower. It's only a quick trip down a few hallways, clear of guards at Arthur's request, and then they are entering the chambers next to Arthur's. Merlin leaves Aithusa on the bed and uses the connecting passageway to enter Arthur's chambers, finding him reading at his desk with Gwen at his side.

They look up at his entrance, Gwen's eyes lighting up as she hastens across the floor to wrap Merlin in a hug.

"Merlin!" she exclaims. "I'm so glad to see you." She pulls back to study him, brown eyes wide and worried. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, Gwen." He hates the pity in her eyes, the knowledge of what the Sarrum did to him. 

"I'm so glad you're staying," Gwen says, squeezing his hands in hers. "I'll leave you to get settled in, but my chambers are always open for you." She pauses. "I mean, not  _always,_ obviously not always-"

"Gwen." Merlin smiles, having missed this side of her. "I understand. Thank you."

Gwen nods, flustered, before turning and slipping out the door. Arthur grins, getting up from the desk to approach Merlin, something cautious in his steps.

"You came," he murmurs, stopping inches away as blue eyes search Merlin's.

"Did you doubt me?"

"No." Arthur smirks. "Maybe a little." He reaches out to grab Merlin's cloak, tugging him closer and kissing him softly. "I'm glad you're here, Merlin."

Merlin smiles into the kiss, letting himself be pulled towards the bed.

* * *

_The darkness presses in, unending, suffocating him with creeping fingers. His breaths are loud in the silence, ragged with pain, a cold emptiness in his soul where his magic used to be that burns with an agony greater than any wound. Aithusa shifts and cries, limbs pressing against his body as she tries to find room against the unforgiving walls of the pit. Merlin mumbles under his breath, voice hoarse with disuse. There's a tune to it, a song. He thinks his mother used to sing it to him as a child. He's not sure if that was real, or merely a dream. Nothing is_   _real except the darkness and the pain. He does not know what day it is, or what time. He does not know how long he has been here. Forever, he thinks. There was never anything else. He thinks there is something he was supposed to remember. It slips away between one breath and the next, his voice trailing off into nothingness as the silence returns. The darkness presses in. Aithusa cries again, long and mournful-_

Merlin wakes with a start, sitting up as he gasps for breath. There's the sound of something shattering. It's dark, too dark, and for a moment he thinks he's still there, he never escaped, it's all a dream, nothing but a product of his madness, he's still there-

"Merlin." A hand grabs his arm and he flinches, cowering away with a cry. Candles flare to life nearby, blinding him, and he shields his eyes with a hand.

"Merlin." The voice is right next to him, a blurry figure in his vision. "It's just me."

He knows them, these hallucinations, knows the words will fade away into the darkness like everything else. They offer only torment and grief.

"You're not real," he mutters. "You're not real, you're not real, you're not real-"

Suddenly there are hands bracketing his face, warm and solid. Merlin blinks, a face coming into focus, blue eyes wide and worried. That's strange, he thinks. Arthur is always angry and hateful in his hallucinations.

"I'm real," Arthur says. "You've had a bad dream."

A dream. He knows it's a dream, this figment of Arthur. The real Arthur would never look at him with such care. But this isn't a bad dream. This is a good dream, he thinks. He would like to stay here, if only for a moment.

He reaches up a hand to grasp Arthur's wrist and finds it solid. He smiles, glad that his mind has conjured this. He thinks there is something he is supposed to remember, but it slips away whenever he tries to reach it. 

"This is a good dream," he murmurs. 

But dream-Arthur frowns, looking sad. His fingers tighten on Merlin's face. "Merlin," he says, and it sounds broken. "Merlin, this isn't a dream."

Merlin's fingers dance up Arthur's arm, marveling at the realness. "Course it is," he whispers. "If you were real, this wouldn't be happening. The real Arthur hates me."

Dream-Arthur looks shattered. "I don't hate you, Merlin. I love you." 

"I know." Merlin smiles sadly. "Because you're not real." He strokes Arthur's cheek. "But this is the best dream I've had. Will you stay with me for a while?"

Dream-Arthur suddenly folds him into his arms, clutching him tight. He smells just like Merlin remembers, the warmth of his body chasing away the coldness in his chest. 

"Always," Arthur says hoarsely. "I won't leave you. Not now, not ever, remember?"

Merlin just snuggles closer, eyes drifting closed as Arthur's heart beats steady in his ear. For once, the darkness offers peace.

* * *

When he wakes, light is streaming through the curtains. He sits up slowly, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he looks around. He's in Arthur's bed, and it takes him a moment to remember why, the events of the previous day rushing back to him. A spark of happiness lights in his chest, not diminished by the fact that Arthur is nowhere to be seen. Judging by the light, Arthur is probably at training. Merlin's surprised he slept this late and this deeply, sleep usually disturbed by the same nightmares every night. He does remember flashes of dreams, strange and unclear, but the more he tries to reach for them the faster they slip away. He thinks that's probably a good thing.

His stomach rumbles, breaking him out of his thoughts. He looks around, but there's no food in sight, and he sighs before pulling on a tunic and breeches. He ducks into the next room to check on Aithusa, who greets him happily, and then murmurs the spell to turn himself into a cat. Shaking himself, he pushes open Arthur's chamber door with a bit of magic and trots off down the hall towards the kitchens. The few servants he pass pay him no mind except to smile, used to his presence, and when he gets to the kitchens the maids practically light up with happiness, rushing to get him a plate of scraps. He endures a few pats as he eats, a small part of him craving the affection from people who would surely look on him with hatred and fear if they knew who he really is. He'd been liked among the other servants in Camelot, before everything had gone wrong, and he misses their easy smiles and idle gossip. 

When he's done he wanders for a bit, his feet taking him in the direction of the one place he hasn't let himself go in all his exploration. He makes sure no one is inside before nudging open the door and lifting the shape-shifting spell, cloak swishing around his feet. It's been rebuilt, the walls that he last remembers only as crumbling ruins now new stone a shade lighter than the rest of the castle, even the balcony reconstructed in a way that looks safer than before. The room is filled with potions and medicine supplies, a patient bed in the corner and books spread out on the table. The sight is so familiar that it takes his breath away, and he half-expects to turn and find Gaius at the workbench, hunched over a book as a potion bubbles merrily beside him, looking up to see Merlin as a familiar smile splits his face. He can hear Gaius' stern tones laced with fondness, chastising Merlin for some recklessness long forgotten, eyebrow raised in disapproval even as warmth sparkles in his eyes. 

There's a sharp pang in his chest. The image disappears, the room still and silent. Merlin feels wetness trail down his cheek and hastily scrubs at his eyes, drawing a shaky breath.  

The door opens. Merlin whirls, cursing himself for letting his guard drop. A young woman stands in the doorway, surprise mirrored on her face. Her red hair falls in a slightly mussed braid over her shoulder, a smudge of dirt on her freckled cheek and bright green eyes wide as she stares at Merlin. He waits for the inevitable recognition, the fear, but she only blinks, closing the door and smiling warmly.

"Hello," she says, voice clear and even. "Do you need something?" Her eyes flick over the scar on his face only briefly, gaze clinical. Merlin feels relief at the fact that she doesn't seem to know who he is.

Merlin opens and closes his mouth, caught off guard. "Who are you?" he finally manages.

"Oh, sorry." The woman smiles, strangely extending a hand as a man would to shake. "Elaine. I'm the Court Physician."

Merlin tentatively takes her hand, shaking quickly. Her grip is firm, palm rough with callouses, and she doesn't seem bothered that he doesn't give his name in return. 

"So, did you need something?" she asks again, rolling up her sleeves. She's dressed like a man as well, with breeches and a tunic that fit her slight frame. 

"Um." Merlin searches for a valid excuse for why he's here. "I-I used to know Gaius," is what slips out.

Elaine's expression turns sympathetic. "Oh. Yes, tragic, that. He was a great physician, and a great man from what I've heard."

Merlin clears his throat, blinking back the wetness in his eyes. "Yes, he was." His voice is rough, and he turns away to hide the play of emotions over his face. His eyes catch on the door at the opposite end of the chamber, small and familiar. 

"What, um, what's in there now?" he asks.

There's footsteps and Elaine draws closer, red hair flashing in his peripheral vision. "Just storage," she says. "And an extra patient bed. You can have a look if you want."

He finds himself moving towards it, walking quietly up the familiar steps and setting a hand on the door. With a gentle push it swings open, the hinges creaking slightly. He ducks through the doorway, feeling another rush of grief as he takes in the small room where he'd lived for years. It's much the same, with a bed in the center and cupboards to the right, the window on the left looking out over Camelot. Shutting the door behind him Merlin crouches down, fingers finding the edge of the loose floorboard and pulling. He nearly gasps when he sees his small stash of belongings still there, undisturbed and exactly the same as he remembers. He reaches down, withdrawing the small dragon carving and running fingers over its smooth surface. A well of grief rises up for the two fathers he'd lost, both of which he'd never gotten to grieve for. Both of which were snatched from him too soon, leaving him alone. 

He tucks the dragon into the pocket of his cloak, leaving the spell book and Sidhe staff in the nook and replacing the floorboard, straightening and composing his expression. He exits the room, finding Elaine poring over a book. She looks up, giving him an assessing gaze.

"You know, I could use your help figuring out an illness I encountered."

Merlin narrows his eyes suspiciously. "I'm not a physician."

"But it was you who cured everyone in Camelot of the last sickness, was it not?"

Merlin stiffens, heart skipping a beat as he stares at Elaine, magic rising inside him.  _She knows._  

Elaine meets his gaze evenly, eyes holding no malice or fear. "And you spent enough time with Gaius that your skill as a physician must be notable," she continues calmly. "I could use your expertise."

Merlin's gaze flicks between her and the door, his mind racing. Is this a trap? Are there guards coming? She obviously knows who he is, and is trying to keep him here. But even if guards come, Arthur won't execute him, he knows that. But what if they don't wait for him? What if history repeats itself? Or what if Elaine isn't who she says she is?

"You know who I am-why aren't you turning me in?" he asks sharply. "I'm an enemy of Camelot."

Elaine snorts in a very unladylike manner. "Enemy of Camelot? You managed to not only cure all of Camelot but decide not to kill the king and then rebuild the castle. The king hasn't made any effort to capture or kill you, which means he doesn't think you a threat, and you come here because you knew Gaius and miss him, presumably. Everything I've heard about you paints you as a good person, plus you're a powerful sorcerer and skilled physician, so far be it for me to want your help when I'm trying to save lives."

Merlin stares, stunned. He opens his mouth, then closes it, at a loss for words.

"For Gods' sake, sit down before you fall over." Elaine points to the bench across the table from her.

Merlin complies wordlessly, mind still reeling as he sits down heavily. Elaine smiles, flipping her braid over her shoulder and shoving the book across the table.

"Okay, let's get started."

* * *

"So," Merlin asks, ripping apart a piece of bread, "How did you become a physician?"

Elaine swallows her mouthful, leaning her elbows on the table. "Well, my mother was a healer in our village. I picked up a lot from her, before she died. After that I left, making my way by offering my skills. It was a dangerous life, but I loved it. I traveled for a while with a swordsman who rescued me from some bandits, and he told me about Camelot. It was his life's ambition to be a knight, but he wasn't of noble blood so he was turned away."

Merlin stills, throat going dry. "His name....was it Lancelot?"

Elaine blinks in surprise. "Yes. How did you know?"

"I knew him. He was..." Merlin swallows. "A true friend."

Elaine pauses, and then her eyes grow wide and she points a finger at him. "It's you! You're the friend he always talked about. He talked quite highly of you." Her expression saddens. "I'm sorry. I heard about his death."

Merlin takes a swig of water, trying to school his expression. "It was a long time ago."

Elaine gives him a look like she knows what he's doing but continues. "Well, the stories about Camelot made me want to see it. Lancelot taught me how to fight, to defend myself, and eventually we parted ways. I fell out of contact with Lancelot for many years and kept honing my craft, moving from place to place. I even spent a while with the Druids, learning about magic and different ways of healing. When I heard that Camelot's famed physician had passed I immediately traveled here and asked the King for the position. He was impressed with my skills and well...here I am."

Merlin nods. "You spent time with the Druids? So you...I mean, you don't agree with the laws on magic?"

Elaine shakes her head. "No. But I believe the King is better than his father. Perhaps he can change that."

Merlin takes a breath, glancing around before leaning forward, voice pitched to a whisper. "He is. He's changing the laws."

"Really?" Elaine's eyes sparkle. "That's wonderful. I don't suppose you had anything to do with it, did you?"

Merlin shrugs. "No, not really. Arthur wouldn't do it unless it was the right thing to do. I certainly didn't do a good job of convincing him of that."

"Give yourself more credit. I think you were the one who changed his mind. I was right when I said he's not hunting you, wasn't I? You've been talking to him."

"Maybe." Merlin drops his eyes to the table, tracing the grain with a finger. "But you can't tell anyone this, even the part about the laws changing."

Elaine nods. "I won't, I swear." She studies him. "You must be happy."

"I am." He wonders why it sounds unconvincing even to his own ears. "It's everything I ever wanted." It's true, and yet it's not enough. Not enough to erase the darkness on his soul, the coldness in his chest, the horrors he sees every time he closes his eyes. He wonders if it will ever be enough.

"Merlin." He looks up to see Elaine looking at him with a soft gaze. "I've been a physician long enough to know that the mind can be injured just as well as the flesh. And that while the flesh may heal, sometimes the mind does not. Not without help."

He feels his defenses bristling, fists clenching on the table. "I don't need help."

Elaine just hums, eyebrow raising in an uncanny impression of Gaius. "You may be a powerful sorcerer, but magic can't fix everything. And something tells me you've suffered more than most."

"You don't know me," Merlin snaps.

"No, I don't. But I'm a physician, and everything I see tells me you're in pain. It's my instinct to help."

Merlin feels a rush of guilt for snapping at her. "Sorry," he mutters, going back to tracing patterns in the wood of the table.

"It's alright." Elaine clears her throat. "Well, thank you for your help today. I don't know what I would have done without you."

"It's no trouble," Merlin responds, grateful for the subject change. "If you need me again just...knock on the chambers next to Arthur's."

Elaine's lips curl in a smirk. "Ah, so you are staying in the castle."

Merlin gets up, grabbing the last bite of bread from the table. "I never said that," he replies innocently, an answering smirk on his face. With a wave he exits the physician's chambers, checking that the hall is clear before transforming into a cat again. He makes his way to Arthur's chambers, finding them still empty, and transforms back into human form before crossing the passageway to his own chambers. 

Aithusa chirps at him, obviously upset by being alone the entire morning. Merlin strokes her head, apologizing, and eventually she settles down to curl up next to the bed. Merlin lays across it, pulling the dragon figure from his pocket and turning it over in his hands. All of a sudden, a wave of grief washes over him, crushing his chest, brought on by the visit to Gaius' chambers. He had never truly gotten to mourn Gaius, or his father for that matter. He had been forced to leave both of them -- one in a shallow grave, one lying dead on the floor, and both had died protecting him. It's his fault they're dead.

Anger rises up, the familiar bitterness on the back of his tongue. No, it isn't just his fault. It's the fault of people who hate magic, who would kill him for something he cannot help. It's all of them, everyone; every citizen of Camelot who doesn't hesitate to turn in their neighbor on the merest mention of sorcery, every knight who enforced Uther and Arthur's laws, every single person who saw men and women and children slaughtered and did  _nothing._ It's the people who will protest Arthur changing the laws, who will cry sorcery, who will say Merlin has bewitched him. It's the servants he's known for years, who he was friends with, whispering how they had always known he was evil, how he'd tricked them and caused every stroke of bad luck in Camelot. Whispering of the evil he'd done, how they knew to stay away, when he'd greeted them everyday and helped in their tasks, known as the servant who would always lend a helping hand and a friendly smile. They are liars, every one of them, liars and hypocrites and accomplices to murder. 

He'd thought the anger and hatred that caused him to try and destroy Camelot was gone but it isn't, only hidden under a newfound love for Arthur. He loves Arthur, he does, but it doesn't change anything else. Arthur may change the laws, but he will never be regarded with anything but hatred and suspicion, and neither will other magic-users. Arthur could very well be overthrown for changing the laws, the people convinced he's under a spell, and then it would all be for nothing. If Merlin wants his people to be free, he must ensure that Arthur stays on the throne no matter what. Even if he has to confirm the people's suspicions of sorcery, even if he has to kill every single person in Camelot to make it so. He  _hates_ them; hates them for their ignorance, their callousness, their inhumanity when it comes to magic, hates them for the fact that  _he_ will never be free.

He can feel destiny trying to ensnare him again, to blindly follow Arthur without care, to warp and twist himself in the service of Arthur until he is no longer recognizable. Arthur is the only thing he has left, the only one in all the world besides Gwen who still loves him, and even so neither of them understand, neither of them possess magic. He is utterly and completely alone. 

He has gotten used to being alone, after two years without another human voice. But somehow, it still hurts, an ache in his chest that brings traitorous tears to his eyes. He wants Gaius back. He wants Gaius to wrap him in a hug and say  _oh, my boy,_ wants him to tell him everything will be alright. But, in the end, even Gaius hadn't understood, not really. He'd always urged Merlin not to use his magic, not to go against Uther. He had been just as bad as the rest of them, turning a blind eye to the Purge. Merlin thinks that, right now, Morgana is the only one who would understand him, and she is dead because of him. 

He is alone.

The door creaks open, soft footsteps shushing against the stones. A weight dips the bed, a figure in the edges of his vision.

"Merlin?"

Arthur sounds tentative, which is unlike him. Merlin doesn't respond, staring up at the ceiling as emptiness sucks at his chest. He feels numb, separated from his body, as if nothing is real except the ball of hatred and anger that sits behind his heart. 

Calloused fingers brush over his forehead, sweeping away overgrown locks of hair. The touch reminds him of his mother. He hasn't seen her in years, didn't dare go back after he escaped the Sarrum. She would not want to see what he has turned into. 

"What's wrong?"

Merlin blinks slowly, the soothing motion of the fingers quieting his mind. "Just....tired," he mumbles. It's not a lie. He just feels tired, like all the energy has been drained from him. He doesn't want to move, doesn't want to do anything. It's too much. Life is too much, he thinks. He doesn't want to do this anymore, doesn't want to feel this all-consuming  _hurt_ in his chest. Everything has gone wrong, and he can't fix it. It's too late. 

"Is this about last night?"

"Last...night?" Merlin frowns slightly. "What happened last night?"

Arthur's fingers still for a moment. "Do you...not remember?"

"Remember what?"

There's the sound of a breath and then Arthur's fingers resume their strokes. "Nothing," Arthur says, voice rough. 

Merlin thinks Arthur is hiding something but he's too tired to protest, eyes slipping closed. He clutches the tiny wooden dragon tightly, the pain keeping him tethered to reality as Arthur's touch breaks something apart inside him, calming the knot of hurt and settling the ache in his chest. He drifts, getting lost in the tangles of his own mind; Arthur like a beacon shining through the darkness, calling him home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's apparently Fanfic Writers Appreciation Day and my favorite present is comments. Bonus points if you know where I got the name Elaine from in Arthurian legend!


	11. Chapter 11

When he's sure Merlin is asleep Arthur gets up, moving into his chambers to continue working on new legislation he plans to present to the court the next day. Surprisingly, Aithusa follows him, sitting next to his chair and looking up at him with mournful eyes. He sighs and reaches out to rub her head, marveling at his own lack of fear.

"You're not so bad," he murmurs. "See, the only other dragon I've met tried to destroy Camelot. He was much larger than you, as well. But you're not very scary."

Aithusa makes a chirping noise and sets her head in his lap, eyes closing. Arthur smiles.

"I can see why Merlin loves you. You're really just a sweet thing, aren't you?" he coos, scratching the ridge of her forehead. If anyone ever insinuated that Arthur was cooing over a dragon, or any creature, he would deny it vehemently, but in the solitude of his chambers there's no one to witness his uncharacteristic softness.

He runs a hand down Aithusa's neck, feeling the unnatural twist of her spine, and his mind flashes to Merlin. Merlin, who doesn't seem to remember the night before, who is still broken and hurting, in whose eyes Arthur has seen glints of madness. He may be able to fix what's between them, but he knows that madness, once let in, is not so easily banished. And, he thinks, any man would go mad after two years at the bottom of a dark pit, after living their whole lives in fear, after watching a loved one die and thinking their friend had betrayed them.

Arthur doesn't know how to heal wounds of the mind. He's not a physician, and he has been raised to believe that an unsound mind is a sign of weakness. His idea of comfort is a punch to the arm, a ruffling of hair. The men who suffer mental wounds after a battle have always been quickly dismissed, sent away somewhere he doesn't know and never asked. He's trying, Gods is he trying, but he doesn't know how to help Merlin. 

"What do I do, Aithusa?" he asks.

Blue eyes blink up at him, a shade lighter than Merlin's, but she only nudges into his hand again with a soft sound. Arthur sighs, slumping back against the chair.

* * *

He's working on the legislation, Aithusa's head still in his lap, when she suddenly raises her head. There's a rasp of sound, a voice; a power to it that sends tingles along Arthur's spine.

"Aithusa!"

Aithusa immediately limps towards the passageway, Arthur in tow. Merlin is sitting up on the bed, looking confused and faintly terrified, eyes darting around the room wildly. When he spots Aithsua he sags, reaching out a hand. She pushes into it, Arthur standing awkwardly at the entrance not wanting to break the moment. 

Eventually Merlin looks up, locking eyes with Arthur.

"What time is it?"

Arthur glances at the window. "Late afternoon."

Merlin scowls. "You let me sleep," he accuses.

"You obviously needed it," Arthur replies, raising an eyebrow. 

Merlin scowls. 

Arthur ignores him. "Have you eaten?"

"Yes." Merlin looks like he's debating whether to say something so Arthur waits, knowing not to push. Finally Merlin says, "I met the Court Physician."

Arthur hadn't expected that. He blinks for a moment, at a loss. "Oh," he manages. "How did that...go?"

Merlin shrugs. "She's nice. I helped her with a remedy for a sickness." He glances up at Arthur. "She knows who I am."

"And you're...okay with that?"

"I guess. She just wanted my help."

"I'm glad." Arthur tries for a smile. "See, that's one more person who knows, and who accepts you. I told you it would be all right."

Merlin scowls. "Not everyone is like that."

"No, but enough are." He pauses. "I'm presenting the new laws on magic to the council tomorrow."

Merlin brightens a fraction. "Really?"

Arthur nods. "I have it all written out, but I'd like you to review it first."

"Alright." A small smile tugs on Merlin's lips, eyes sparkling in a way that takes Arthur's breath away. He gets up, brushing past Arthur into the next room. "With your shoddy writing, this will take all night."

"Hey! I'll have you know my writing is  _exceptional!"_

Merlin laughs, and something in Arthur's chest loosens. They'll be alright.

* * *

Arthur takes a deep breath, sitting straighter in his chair. Gwen is a reassuring presence to his left, giving him a slight nod as he flattens the parchment on the table. 

"My lords," Arthur begins. "I have a matter that I've long been contemplating. It has to do with the laws on magic."

He feels the tension in the air thicken, all the lords giving him their undivided attention. 

"After weeks of careful research and investigation, I have decided to overturn the ban on magic."

Immediately a loud murmur takes over, punctuated with a few horrified gasps and raised voices. Arthur raises a hand, quieting them.

"I know that many of you harbor fear and distrust towards magic. So did I, before I learned the truth. As much as I admired and respected my father, he was blinded by hatred and fear. He wrongly persecuted those with magic, even unto slaughter. He destroyed all information on magic, every book, anything that had to do with sorcery. In doing so, he allowed false beliefs about magic to propagate. What I, what many of you have learned in the past twenty-some years, is _wrong_." 

He glances around the table, assessing the expressions. Many look skeptical but a few look interested, and that gives him hope. He plows on.

"Magic is as natural as the air we breathe. It is all around us. It can be used to hurt, yes, but it can also be used to heal, to protect; to bring prosperity and happiness. Those who are born with a gift, who are able to harness its powers, should not be hunted for that simple fact. Those who use it to hurt, yes, they must be brought to justice. But those who use it for good should be welcomed and accepted, and allowed to practice their craft for the betterment of the kingdom. Those who do not seek magic but find it within them, unable to be hidden, should not live in terror for something they cannot help but taught to control their powers. I can find no honor in slaughtering a child for something they were born with. For that reason I propose overturning the ban; for all the people who have suffered all these years because of simple hatred and fear and ignorance."

More lords look like they're considering his words, and Gwen's eyes are shining with tears when he glances over at her.

"I know it will not be easy," he continues. "There are many subtleties, many complexities when dealing with magic. There must be rules and regulations to prevent the abuse of it. But I know that it will bring great prosperity to the kingdom. Think of illnesses healed, lives saved, crops flourishing. Think of sorcerers in our army, protecting our knights. Just think of the possibilities, the good that can be done. More than that, the magical attacks on the kingdom would decrease, without a reason to hate. A part of the people would no longer live in fear. 

"There is no evil in sorcery," he says. "Only in the hearts of men. I think it is time to right the wrongs of the past, and usher Camelot into a golden age of peace and prosperity; of equality, and justice, and the freedom to be one's self. It's time to accept magic."

* * *

By the time the council session ends Arthur is exhausted, a headache quickly building between his temples. Gwen squeezes his hand on the way out, promising to come by later, and he walks into his chambers to find Merlin waiting with an expectant yet worried expression.

"So?" Merlin sounds breathless. "How did it go."

Arthur keeps his face composed, taking time to approach Merlin and set his hands on his shoulders. Merlin's face falls slightly, disappointment gathering in his eyes. 

"Well," Arthur says. 

He grins. 

"Magic is legal."

The reaction is slow as realization dawns on Merlin. His mouth opens, curves into a smile. His eyes crinkle, brimming with tears. He looks at Arthur like he hangs the stars in the sky.

Then his mouth is crashing into Arthur's, fingers digging into his mail. Arthur pushes back into the kiss, tasting salt on Merlin's lips from tears that dampen his face. 

"Thank you," Merlin breathes against his lips.

Arthur wants to tell Merlin that he doesn't have to thank him, that it was the right thing to do, that Arthur has wronged magic users, but it's quickly swept away as their kisses grow heated, Merlin's hands turning Arthur and pushing him backwards until the backs of his knees hit the bed. Merlin shoves him down onto it, quickly straddling him and working the tie of his cape. Arthur tries to sit up so he can take off his mail and surcoat but Merlin grunts in frustration and with a flash of his eyes they're both naked, only Arthur's cape still clutched in Merlin's hands. 

Arthur gapes, incredibly aroused by the display of magic.

Merlin smirks, slowly swinging the cape around his own shoulders. Arthur's arousal builds, the sight of Merlin in his cape and nothing else doing strange things to his stomach. He reaches up and clasps it around Merlin's neck, fingers brushing skin in a purposeful glide, and Merlin tilts his head up for better access. 

"Any way you can make the room soundproof? And prevent anyone from coming in?" Arthur murmurs. 

Merlin smiles, staring at Arthur as his eyes flash gold. Arthur's breath hitches.

"Beautiful," he breathes. 

Merlin cocks his head, looking down at Arthur with something unreadable in his eyes. "You really think so?"

"Yes." Arthur reaches up to trace Merlin's face. "I love when your eyes do that."

"It doesn't scare you?"

He could give a scathing answer, something about how he doesn't get scared, but he knows the fear with which magic is regarded and knows his answer is important.

"No," he says honestly. "I think your magic is beautiful. I know you'd never hurt me."

Merlin exhales, eyes soft and fond. "No," he says softly. "I wouldn't."

"Show me?" Arthur asks. 

Merlin's eyes blaze gold and suddenly Arthur feels it; feels Merlin's magic snaking over his skin in golden tendrils, warm and familiar. It sets his nerves alight, like sparks trailing over his skin, arousal pooling in his gut as he looks up and takes in Merlin - pale skin and black hair and golden eyes, Arthur's red cape around his shoulders, regal and powerful and  _his -_ who looks like something ethereal, not quite human. The sight is breathtaking. 

"Merlin," he whispers in awe.

He feels the tingle of Merlin's magic skate over his body and down, drawing a surprised inhalation. It creeps up Merlin's thighs, turning to golden sparks, entwining them together and making Arthur feel heady and drunk on the feeling. Merlin shifts, a smirk on his face, and then sinks down onto Arthur. He feels a jolt of fear that he hurt Merlin before he realizes that there is no unbearable tightness, no friction. Magic wraps around him, smoothing the way, and he groans and presses his head back into the pillows as it threatens to overwhelm him. 

Merlin's eyes are still blazing gold, swirls of magic dancing and crackling over their skin, and Arthur has the realization that all this power, this beauty, all of it is trusted to  _him._ Merlin could kill him with a flash of his eyes, but yet yields to Arthur, pliant in his hands. Merlin cannot bear the weight of the world, of all his power, and so has placed it in Arthur's hands, trusting him to carry it.

Arthur reaches up a hand, wrapping it around Merlin's throat gently. Merlin gasps, head tilting back, and Arthur strokes his thumb over the pale skin. He thinks Merlin needs this, to be contained, to let everything go. To have that much power, he must yearn to submit control willingly, and the trust written in his eyes is stunning to behold. 

The cape pools over his thighs, fabric rustling with every movement, the gold embroidered on the brilliant red an exact match for the gold of Merlin's eyes and the magic dancing over their skin. The clasp brushes Arthur's wrist, metal warm against the skin as he tightens his hold on Merlin's throat slightly and drives his hips up, rewarded by another gasp punched out of Merlin that he feels in his palm. 

"Arthur," Merlin whispers.

Arthur surges up, an arm snaking under the cloak and around Merlin's back as he draws them together. Lightning jolts through him as he cranes his head up and presses his mouth to Merlin's, his other hand cupping the side of his neck. The cloak flows around them, enveloping them, and Merlin's nails draw lines down his shoulders as he licks into his mouth.

He breaks the kiss to stare up at Merlin, blue eyes meeting gold. He feels the rush of magic as Merlin comes, eyelids fluttering but staying open as if he knows that Arthur wants to see the way his eyes glow brighter, and it's enough to send Arthur over the edge. His body stiffens, skin tingling and sparks skittering up his spine as he gasps soundlessly. As he comes down he watches the gold fade from Merlin's eyes, leaving them wide and blue. They breath into each others space for a moment, bodies still intertwined and hearts fluttering in their chests. 

"Wow," Arthur murmurs.

Merlin chuckles. "Wow."

Arthur carefully falls backwards, withdrawing and bringing Merlin with him to lay on his chest. Merlin curls into him, cloak still wrapped around him and fingers tracing lazy patterns on Arthur's stomach.

"Was that a good enough thank you?"

Arthur snorts, wrapping an arm around Merlin. "It'll do."

Merlin pokes him in the stomach. "Prat."

"Idiot."

"Clotpole."

"Dollophead."

"That's my word."

"Yes, and it suits you perfectly."

* * *

After they've extricated themselves from the bed and located Arthur's vanished clothing they talk about the council session and what had happened. All of Arthur's proposals had eventually gone through after much debate and even anger from a few of Uther's old councilors, and magic is officially legal. Arthur plans to make an announcement in the town square, and his knights will make sure the new laws are enforced. As he and Merlin had discussed, they will be asking Druid representatives to come to the castle and help with the transition, and they are creating new positions for different kinds of sorcerers in service of the kingdom. 

"Merlin," Arthur says. "I know you said no but I believe there is no one better to be Camelot's Court Sorcerer and magical advisor. The magical community respects you and follows you because of the whole-" he waves a hand "-Emrys thing, so they'd be much more likely to trust me."

Merlin looks like he's torn, worrying at his lip and thinking hard. Arthur searches for the cracks and tries to widen them, knowing he just has to make Merlin see sense.

"It's actually a good thing that you attacked Camelot," he says, ignoring Merlin's incredulous look. "Because it shows that you won't just obey unjust laws. You were willing to go against me when I was wrong, and I changed the law and pardoned you. The magical community knows that you wouldn't follow me if I meant any of them harm."

Merlin looks to be thinking this over. "True," he finally admits. "It's good for them. But what about the other side? What about the people who don't trust magic? All they'll see is an evil sorcerer who spelled you into doing his bidding."

"In time, they'll see," Arthur urges. "And especially if I show that I'm not under your control. That..." He swallows, hoping Merlin doesn't take it the wrong way. "That you are under mine."

Merlin searches his eyes before nodding. "If this goes wrong, I won't let you be dragged down. I'll leave, or-or whatever I have to do."

"It won't come to that." Arthur rubs a hand down Merlin's arm. "We do this together."

Merlin gives him a slight smile. "Together."

* * *

The first thing they decide to do, after consulting Gwen, is see the knights. Merlin needs their support first before anything else, and Arthur trusts them with his life. He calls them all down to a small meeting room, making sure the door is locked and they won't be disturbed. First he tells them about the changes in the laws, and about how he wants them to meet someone. Then he taps the stone in his pocket that Merlin had enchanted and Merlin appears next to him, a slight tremor betraying his nerves but face hard and expressionless. The knights all draw their swords and Merlin stiffens.

"Sire?" Leon questions suspiciously. "What's the meaning of this?"

Arthur takes a step forwards, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. "Put away your weapons. He's here in peace."

The knights sheath their weapons but keep their hands on the pommels, all glancing at Merlin with suspicion. Merlin glares back, radiating hatred and power. This isn't Arthur's Merlin, who smiles and kisses him and allows Arthur to touch him. This is the Merlin the rest of the world sees, hard and powerful and angry. He's torn between grief, for the Merlin who smiled at everyone and loved freely, and selfish pride, that only he gets to see Merlin's true self.

"So, that mean he's on our side now?" Gwaine asks, looking the most relaxed of everyone.

Merlin takes a step forwards, cutting off Arthur's response. "I'm not on anyone's side," he growls. 

Arthur resists the urge to roll his eyes and places a calming hand on Merlin's shoulder. "What he _means_ ," he says, "is that he just wants to do what is right. But he's not here to hurt anyone as long as we don't hurt him."

Merlin glares but doesn't refute his words or shrug off his hand. The knights look a little more relaxed, though there's still tension in the air.

"So why are you here?" Elyan questions, looking straight at Merlin without fear, only curiosity.

Merlin glances over at Arthur briefly and Arthur answers.

"Now that magic is legalized, I want Merlin to become Court Sorcerer and magical advisor and ambassador."

A profound silence greets his words. 

"Court Sorcerer?" Leon exclaims. "Sire, you do remember that Merlin attacked us not weeks ago?"

"Yes, Leon, I remember it well. Merlin also ceased his attack on my promise that I would right the wrongs done to those with magic. There is no one I trust more for this position."

Leon still doesn't look convinced. "Sire, he killed guards and escaped two years ago. He betrayed us all."

Merlin steps forwards, lip curling and eyes blazing. "You all betrayed me!"

Leon draws his sword and Merlin's eyes flash gold, small sparks of lightning arcing along his clenched hands.

"What are you doing?" Leon demands. "Stop it!"

"Stop!" Arthur gets in between them, holding out his hands. "This is no way to achieve peace."

"He's using magic! We don't even know what he's doing!" Leon argues. "Look at it!" He gestures to where the sparks dance on Merlin's fingertips.

"He's not doing anything." Arthur stares Leon down. "He can't help it. It's just his magic reacting to a threat."

" _You're_ the one who should feel threatened," Merlin snarls at Leon over Arthur's shoulder. "I should have killed you when I had the chance."

"Merlin!" Arthur turns to him in exasperation. "Not helping!"

Merlin glares at Leon. Arthur reaches out and grabs his chin, forcing him to look at him. 

"Merlin," he says firmly. "Calm. Down. Sir Leon is a trusted friend. We both know you're not going to kill him, and I won't allow him to hurt you."

Merlin takes a deep breath and the gold in his eyes fades, sparks disappearing. His face closes off and he gives Arthur a tight nod. Arthur lets him go, turning back to Leon.

"He was telling the truth. We betrayed him. What happened was an accident, and not Merlin's fault. The guards attempted to kill him, and in the process killed Gaius and wounded him. There have been many misunderstandings and things that never should have happened because of fear and ignorance. I intend to change that. I need you on my side, Leon." He looks around the room. "All of you. I need you to put away past grievances and trust Merlin as you trust me, or else we will never achieve peace."

There's a moment of silence. 

"Well, I for one would be happy to have Merlin back," Gwaine says with a grin. "Always knew there was something special about you." He winks at Merlin and Merlin's face softens slightly.

"I as well," Elyan says. "I know you, Merlin, and you're a good man. And I trust Arthur. I'd be happy to have you back."

Percival nods. "I've always thought highly of you. You have nothing to fear from me."

Arthur looks at Leon. "Leon?"

Leon studies Merlin, and then Arthur. "Alright," he says. He looks at Merlin. "I've known you for many years and you were always loyal to Arthur. I fear it may take some time for me to trust you, but I will not raise my sword against you unless you prove to be a threat to the King. You have my word."

Merlin nods. "Thank you," he says quietly. "And you have my word that I will never harm Arthur."

Arthur lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, relief coursing through him. 

"Good," he says. "That's settled. I will make an announcement to the people about the new laws, and I want to present Merlin to the court tomorrow. I want you all to be there to keep the peace."

His knights nod as one, eyes still flicking to Merlin warily, but the tension in the room has lessened, and Arthur knows the hardest part is over. It's a step forwards, he reminds himself. Small, but a step nonetheless.

* * *

This time it's Arthur who can't sleep. Merlin is a solid weight on his chest, breaths tickling his neck and forehead smooth and unlined, but still Arthur can't sleep. He rubs a thumb over Merlin's arm in slow strokes, staring up at the bed-hangings as his mind whirls, focused on the day ahead. 

How will the people react to the new laws? Will they support him, or will he find a revolution on his hands? Have they really thought the laws through? What if it's not enough? What if Merlin's right, and the people won't accept him? Will Merlin ever be truly welcomed in Camelot?

Most importantly, he wonders, will Merlin ever be okay?

It's no secret to him that Merlin is struggling. His mind is fractured and warped, and though there are glimpses of the old Merlin, glimpses of a man who is kind and gentle and wise, far more often it is overshadowed by anger and bitterness and sorrow. He does not fear Merlin, no, but he should, he thinks. He had told the knights to trust Merlin, that he wouldn't harm them, but he knows that the instant Merlin feels threatened, his knights will be dead or injured. Merlin had given his word that he wouldn't harm  _Arthur,_ but not anyone else. 

He can only hope the knights will not try anything, or everything he's worked for will come crumbling down. Merlin is balancing on a knife's edge between sanity and madness, and it will only take a push to send him toppling over. He needs this to work. He needs magic to be free, and he needs Merlin by his side. He only hopes it's possible.

Merlin mumbles in his sleep, breaking Arthur's spiral of thoughts, and Arthur rubs a soothing hand over his arm.

"No," Merlin murmurs, voice laced with panic and breaths harsh against Arthur's skin. "No, please-"

"Shh." Arthur holds him tighter, cheek pressing to Merlin's head and hand still rubbing slowly up and down his arm. "It's alright," he whispers into Merlin's hair, soft strands tickling his face like feathers. "You're safe here."

Merlin slowly relaxes, breaths evening out again and limbs going slack. Arthur closes his eyes and lets himself be pulled down into sleep, dreams filled with golden eyes and red cloaks and magic, twining around him like a lover's embrace.

 


End file.
